


The Longest Hours

by Magrathea



Series: All Our Time is Borrowed [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medication, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Medication, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11770173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magrathea/pseuds/Magrathea
Summary: Viktor was empty. Disconnected from everything, his medals did nothing to shake the apathy and pain that had been his internal norm for too long. After the gala, before the banquet, Viktor slipped back to the hotel. Up on the roof, the skyline of Sochi stretching out before him, Viktor prepared to jump. He didn't prepare for the appearance of Katsuki Yuuri on the roof as well, or for his competitor to declare this to be his suicide and that Viktor can go ahead and go back inside.





	1. First Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I decided to play it safe and stick the Rape warning on this story, but in case you were afraid/concerned, I'll tell you now that it's not even going to be discussed until the 9th chapter, and everything is stuff that happened in the past. I am a rape survivor myself, and while the situations I've included are different from what I've experienced in the past, I would rather have the warning up now than change it later when it gets closer to the part of the story. This story deals with some very dark, heavy things, but I'm hoping that it is ultimately a cathartic kind of experience to read.

Viktor already had one leg lifted to jump over the rail and onto the ledge when the door to the roof opened. The noise startled him, and he jumped away from the rail and moved further into the shadow. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time, wincing at the picture of Makkachin on the screensaver. The old dog deserved better than what he was about to give her. 19:47. Almost eight p.m. The sun had begun setting before five that afternoon, and now the sky was already that inky purple most would call _midnight black._ He locked his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket. Whoever was up here would leave soon, and then he could jump.

Viktor loved to jump. Ever since he was a child, he would speed through lessons on school figures, step sequences, choreography, all to reach a place where his teachers and coaches would allow him to practice his jumps over and over again. He landed his first quad toe loop in a regional competition at thirteen years of age. Yakov had been furious, had made him swear on his mother’s grave to wait until moving up to seniors before doing another quad. But Viktor loved jumping, and jumps loved Viktor so much more than his mother ever had. Even when he fell and found himself bruised the color of night, he felt more love from the chill of the ice than from his cold mother.

Viktor hadn’t cried when she died, and he never intended to shed tears on her behalf. He swore on her grave anyway, and when Yakov wasn’t around, he would practice quad jumps to spite her. He learned to mask it well with petulance and childishness until it finally dissolved into apathy in his twenties, but most of the young Viktor Nikiforov was built on a foundation of rage.

Whoever had come through the rooftop door hadn’t seen him yet. And thank God for that, because Viktor did not have it in himself to smile for another _commemorative_ photo with a fan. The most confusing, most exciting moment of the whole competition this year was when that Yuuri Katsuki had walked away from the offer. So few people rejected his persona, and the sense of internal disquiet that Katsuki caused in him was _new._ It only lasted for a few minutes, but for those few minutes he felt confusion and even a little indignation, which spiked into about fifteen seconds of sheer joy—he had felt an emotion.

That brief flare of emotion wasn’t enough, though. All it did was throw his dissatisfaction and numbness into sharper relief. He’d won again, and the medal felt cold to his lips. He wanted—he wanted to jump. He also wanted this interloper to leave before he was seen, before he could be stopped. Viktor Nikiforov didn’t want to be saved.

Careful to remain unnoticed, Viktor turned to see who this person was, and he nearly choked on air. Yuuri Katsuki, hands gripped around the safety rail, pushing into it as if testing its strength, heaving shallow breaths and several shades paler than when he’d seen him before. His knees and his wrists shook under his weight; from Viktor’s perspective, he looked on the verge of collapse. Was he sick? That would explain his catastrophic falls during the free skate. But then, nearly as soon as he’d noticed it, Viktor watched Katsuki pull himself upright and school his breathing into deep, rhythmic breaths. Katsuki looked out over the rail, his body tensing as if to swing itself over the edge.

“Yuuri Katsuki!” Viktor called, stepping out of the corner where he’d been hiding and into the low orange glow of the lamplight. “You owe me a photo.”

The smaller man flinched and froze before slowly turning to look at him. “Vi-Viktor,” he said. “Wh-what are you doing up here?”

Viktor put on his celebrity grin, “Just getting some air, and some peace and quiet. How about you?”

“Oh. Um. Air. Yes. I needed air.” Katsuki tugged at the collar of his shirt and looked away from Viktor at the Sochi skyline.

Viktor pulled out his phone. Maybe if he could get Yuuri to take a picture with him, the Japanese skater would disappear. “So what do you say? Can I get a picture with the elusive Yuuri Katsuki this time?”

“Elusive?” Katsuki balked at that. “I’m not elusive. I mean, no one really notices me that much to begin with; it’s not my fault if they don’t give a shit about me. That doesn’t make me elusive. It makes me unobserved.” He paused and then threw his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, sorry. Sorry. That was really rude of me. Fuck. Sorry.”

Viktor blinked. “What?” Katsuki shifted his weight back and forth between his feet and began scratching at his left forearm through the sleeve. Before he could begin to apologize again, Viktor said, “I think you’re pretty elusive, if you ask me. I mean, you’ve been in the senior division for what, five years now? Yet this is the first time I’m meeting you.”

Katsuki snorted, actually snorted. “That’s because I’m a shit skater.”

Viktor almost laughed with him, but caught himself when he realized, “You actually think that, don’t you?” Now Katsuki blinked at him, and Viktor noticed that his eyes behind those blue frames were nearly black in the low light. “Well,” Viktor said, “that’s literally the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week. You’re actually my favorite, you know.”

Katsuki’s ink-dark eyes widened before wincing back closed. “You don’t need to lie to me,” he said. “I already know that I’m just a dime-a-dozen fluke who doesn’t deserve to be here.”

“I can call you Yuuri, yes? Okay. Yuuri, you have some of the best step sequences and spins in the world. Yakov has us study your tape all the time, as well as everyone else’s. Your performance at Skate Canada was perfectly executed; I think I’ve watched your short program at least a dozen times.”

“You _what_?” He grabbed at his chest as if to slow his pulse and began to breathe more shallowly. Viktor felt a strange feeling invade his thoughts. He knew now why Yuuri’s fan club was called _The Katsuki Yuuri Protection Club._ Something about this man tugged at Viktor in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

“Criminally underscored.”

“It was a new personal best.” Yuuri spoke low, lower than a whisper, and Viktor heard an ocean of embarrassment behind it. Did Yuuri believe he had been overscored for some reason?

“And it should have been much higher. Plisetsky threw his phone, he was so angry. If it had been me skating your exact routine, it would have had half the emotion and been scored at least five points above the 85.37 that you got.” Viktor wanted to hurl himself off a bridge, or at least off of the roof of this hotel. Here he was building up Yuuri’s self-esteem when internally, he was screaming to _get him to leave get him to leave get him to leave._ If Viktor didn’t go through with it tonight, he might never get the courage again. But something about Yuuri, from the way he walked away earlier to the way he shrunk away from Viktor now while still maintaining the conversation pulled at Viktor. If he could help Yuuri right now, then he could probably die in peace, right?

Yuuri chuckled, a soft sound that only added to Viktor’s newfound need to _protect this precious child_ , as the internet put it. “Now I know you’re making stuff up,” he said. “Yuri Plisetsky told me not two hours ago that I’m incompetent and that the sport only needs one Yuri, so I should just retire already. There’s no way he’d think I was being underscored.”

Viktor still held his phone in his hand, but the screen had already locked. He opened it again, then began searching through his photo gallery. “I’ll prove it to you, then,” he said. Once he found the picture, from March, he turned the screen to show Yuuri. The picture was from Yuri Plisetsky’s fourteenth birthday party and featured the teen, his cat, and a poster of Yuuri.

The younger man’s breath hitched. In the backlight of the phone screen, Viktor could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “He must have been pretty pissed off with me for fucking up so bad.”

Viktor locked the screen of his phone and pushed it back into his pocket. He took a step closer to Yuuri, then leaned against the rail. “He has anger issues, don’t worry about it. He’s mostly harmless.”

“Mostly,” Yuuri scuffed his toe on the ground and turned to lean over the rail. “You know, it’s getting close to the banquet. Shouldn’t you go get ready?”

“There’s still plenty of time,” Viktor said. “But if you want to head back in, you should go. Maybe we’ll hang some more there?”

“Oh, no no no,” Yuuri said. “I am not going to the banquet.” He looked from Viktor to the rooftop beneath their feet, then back out over the skyline. “Definitely not going to the banquet. You go on ahead. I’m sure they can’t wait to see you.”

“Hmpf,” Viktor scoffed. “The skating world can’t live without its precious medal machine, huh.” He bit the inside of his cheek; he couldn’t let on how he felt if he wanted Yuuri to leave him alone long enough to jump, but the bitterness still managed to vocalize itself. He pulled himself together quickly, hoping to distract the other, “But you should go. Meet with some sponsors, build your brand.”

Yuuri turned and looked at Viktor, and for the first time, he felt like his eyes were completely focused on his face. Viktor turned to meet his gaze and saw anger inside them. “Meet sponsors?” he asked, voice low again, but this time almost threatening. “Build my brand? Like that would happen.”

Viktor swallowed. “Well, yeah. You’re young, it’s your first final. You’ve got Four Continents coming up, and I know you’ve medaled there several times, and you’re the favorite for gold this year, so yeah, you should go network.”

“You know what’ll happen if I go to that banquet? My anxiety will get so overwhelming that I’ll start drinking until I don’t feel like I’m about to have another panic attack, but by then I’ll be so fucking blackout drunk that I’ll probably embarrass myself beyond reason in front of the entire ISU. So no, I am not going to the banquet. Don’t let me stop you.” Yuuri turned back toward the rail, leaned over it slightly, stared into the distance.

Viktor felt his eyes pop when he realized, and he blurted before he could stop himself, “You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t see it, but he was sure that Yuuri had rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you the one trying to get rid of me?”

“You’re going to jump.”

“Why else does a person come to a rooftop alone in the middle of a mental breakdown?”

“Touché. Don’t jump. I—I won’t let you jump.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what you’re planning on doing?”

This time, it was Viktor whose breath hitched, Viktor whose heart began to beat erratically. He could feel his guilt rising to his face. “Why on earth would you say that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Yuuri pushed himself into Viktor’s space until their faces were centimeters apart. “You know, normally I would never be able to talk to you like this. I know that I’m acting way out of character. But this is _my suicide_ , not yours, and you’ve already won everything else. I don’t care if you were on the roof first; you’re going to go back inside and let me jump. Why would I say that, Mister Medal Machine? I saw you starting to climb over the rail.”


	2. Second Hour

Viktor’s phone rang. At first, he made no move to answer it, but Yuuri stared him into submission and he opened the call on speakerphone. “Hi, Yakov! How are you?”

_“Vitya? Why are you speaking English?”_

“No reason, just feel like speaking English. Humor me?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, nowhere special. I am running late, though. I don’t know if I’ll actually make it for a while, sorry.”

“Viktor. The banquet started at nine. You’re twenty minutes late already. You are supposed to be here, representing Russia. I don’t care how attractive he is, whoever he is, but you can’t be fucking around when you’re representing the country, _especially_ not _in_ the country. You have a responsibility to be here, not in your hotel room. Or god forbid, some other hotel.”

“That was _one_ time, _seven_ years ago, and for the last time, we were just kissing. In fact, I haven’t had _any_ sex at all in years. You’re the one who built the playboy image, and yet you’re the one who buys into it the most. It’s not fair.” Petulance, like a reflex, eked from his voice—it was Viktor’s only manifestation of anger, left over from a time when he could still feel a genuine connection to his own emotions.

“If you’re not at this banquet in the next fifteen minutes, I swear to god I am dissolving our contract.”

Viktor faked a gasp; it was the fifth time Yakov had made the threat this week. “Oh whatever would I do without you? Whatever would you do without your precious world champion?”

“It’s one of those nights, is it? Get off your high horse, Vitya. Get your ass here so you can keep _being_ world champion. You can drown yourself in vodka after Nationals like a real man instead of throwing a fit like a child.”

“I’ll think about it. Are all the other skaters there?”

“No, Katsuki is still missing, too. But his coach is claiming a flu, which makes sense given how off his game he was. I don’t have an excuse for you that I can use, so you better get here.”

Viktor looked over toward Yuuri; keeping the conversation in English was clearly for his benefit, but Viktor hadn’t noticed whether or not Yuuri even cared enough to listen. Now that he looked, though, he saw that Yuuri’s intensity from before was now entirely angled toward the phone, as if this conversation between Viktor and Yakov were the most important secret he’d ever been given. “Hmm. I know! Tell them I ran into Yuuri and I’m staying behind to help with his fever, since I think he really shouldn’t be left alone in his condition. But make sure you say that he took a turn for the worse after his coach left, because we wouldn’t want his coach to face any kind of negative feedback, would we?”

“Don’t you dare drag another skater into this.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure he’d be willing to cover for me. I’m going to let you go back to the banquet now, Yakov. Don’t forget to keep an eye on Yurotcha!” Before Yakov could reply, Viktor swiped to hang up. The call drained him; he didn’t have the energy to keep up against Yuuri. Before Yakov’s call, they had both been standing, staring, willing the other to cave and leave. If he wasn’t going to jump yet, he was going to sit. He sighed and sat on the ground, leaning his back against the rail.

Yuuri sank to the ground as well, leaving about ten centimeters between them. “You haven’t had sex in years?” It’s the gentlest thing he’s said since their standoff began, and the first thing either has said to the other in about twenty minutes. Viktor balked for a moment, surprised that this was what Yuuri had decided to comment on.

“No. It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, you get caught fooling around with like three people in your late teens, and one of them’s this beautiful boy from the Zara at the mall, and one extortion later, suddenly you’re turning it into a new persona, _Viktor Nikiforov—Desirable Playboy King._ And then you’re selling Gucci and Chanel, and dating supermodels for a week or two at a time, and then you’re winning and winning, and you’re told that the minute you stop winning and stop dating supermodel women, you’re probably going to have to leave the country you keep winning for because _‘we just don’t feel comfortable with your kind.’_ But you’re too good, too perfect, so you be more and more perfect just so you won’t get tossed in jail for kissing a boy once when you were nineteen and _‘promoting homosexual propaganda.’_ No, I haven’t had sex in years.”

Yuuri looked at Viktor. Viktor shifted under his gaze and turned his face away. He could feel that Yuuri’s eyes were still locked on him, but he didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t even know how Katsuki felt about homosexuality, but if he was anything like most people… His heart began pulsing again, clenching and releasing and clenching at an ever-increasing pace. Suddenly, Yuuri’s opinion on his sexuality was the most important thing in the world, and he held his breath, waiting for judgment. If Yuuri didn’t accept him, he wouldn’t wait another minute before jumping.

“I cried when you cut your hair and started dating women. It’s…” Yuuri groaned and broke his gaze to bury his face in his hands. “That’s probably stupid to say. Sorry. I, um. Sorry, I think my bravado is starting to wear off.”

“You cried? Why?”

Yuuri shook his head, kept his face hidden by his hands. “It’s terrible. You’d hate me. I mean, you probably already hate me, but you’d definitely hate me more.”

“Now I want to know. Come on, you have to tell me. Everyone else I know absolutely loved the cut. They kept saying I finally looked older, more mature, more masculine. Finally growing up.” Viktor nudged Yuuri’s shoulder, and the younger man muttered into his hands. “What was that?”

“I said,” Yuuri snapped his head up, “that that’s exactly what was wrong with it. I know you don’t know this, but your entire…everything,” here he waved a hand in front of himself, “back then was really important to me. Fuck it. You were literally my gay awakening, and then after you did that interview on androgyny, you were my first queer icon, and then you chopped off your hair and started dating women. I was crushed. I cried for weeks. It wasn’t until I was older that I started to understand what things are like here. And then I started picking up on your little subtleties, and I was like, ‘Okay, I guess I was right after all. I guess he really is gay.’ It sounds so stupid.” He leaned his head back until it hit the rail, then bounced it a few times. “God. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m so stupid.”

Viktor put his hand between Yuuri’s head and the rail. “You noticed my clues? I thought nobody noticed them.”

“Well, they have gotten bolder over time. I mean, you’re skating to an aria sung by a man directed toward a masculine lover. Straight people might not notice it, especially if they don’t speak Italian, but if you’re even a little unsure of your sexuality, watching the world’s best figure skater skate to a queer love song can be really powerful.”

“You’re gay.”

“Very, thanks.”

“I’m… I’m gay, too…” Viktor took a deep breath and released it. “I’ve never actually said that out loud before. I’m gay. I’m gay, Yuuri, I’m gay!” He threw his arms around the younger man, who froze stiff, and squeezed him. “And you don’t care! I’m gay, and you don’t care!”

Yuuri patted Viktor on the back with a stiff arm. “I do care. I think it’s great.”

“I’m gay and you think it’s great!” He kissed Yuuri’s cheek before letting him go. “God, I wish I’d known you sooner. Chris is the only other person I know who’s not straight, and he’s so different from me, so open and liberated that I never really felt like he would understand.”

“You ought to get out of Russia, then,” Yuuri said. “Train under someone else, anywhere else. Get a boyfriend. You could have any guy you wanted, you know. You’re gorgeous.” He leaned against the rail again, eyes searching over Viktor’s face. “Is—is this why you’re up here? Because you’re still being forced into the closet?”

Viktor sighed and rubbed his face with the heels of his hands. “It’s a big part of it, but it’s not the only reason.”

“Okay, so what else?”

“Nope. Not fair. If we’re going to sit here talking out our problems until we’ve both been convinced not to kill ourselves, we’re going to take turns. You just dealt a huge blow to my reasons. Now it’s your turn. Why are you up here?”

Yuuri turned his face away from Viktor and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He dropped the fabric of the collar and began to scratch at his forearm again. “It doesn’t really matter, you know. I’m not…I don’t…I’m not like you, you know. I’m not important.”

“I disagree,” Viktor said. He reached out to put a hand on Yuuri’s knee, stopped before making contact for two seconds. Once his palm cupped the kneecap, he said, “You just helped me. If I’m so important to you, and you’re the only person who could have done that for me, doesn’t that make you important?”

Yuuri pulled his knees in closer to his chest, knocking Viktor’s hand away. He wrapped his arms around his legs, knotted his hands together on his shins. Five minutes passed in complete silence. Viktor stared at the sky, wondering if it was really possible to get out of Russia and keep skating. He’d hate to leave Yakov, who’d been his coach since he was a novice. He’d rather quit skating than skate under another coach. Did he even want to keep skating? An hour ago he didn’t even want to keep living. But somehow, Yuuri Katsuki had given him a thread of hope. _Get a boyfriend._ He could have a boyfriend. Hope was new, and it was stronger than confusion.

Viktor didn’t even realize he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts until he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Yuuri was crying. The tears rolled from his eyes down the sides of his cheeks before disappearing into his sleeves where his chin rested on his arms. Somehow in the past two hours, Yuuri had gotten Viktor to open up for the first time, and seeing those tears sliver their way down his face convinced Viktor that he would do the same for the other skater.


	3. Third Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, in this chapter, we find out a little bit about Yuuri's medical side to his mental health. I am not a psychologist, so forgive me if I messed something up, but I've based his history on that of a friend of mine, who has often been prescribed multiple drugs of differing types at a time. I've also done a lot of research (both for angst-laden YOI fics and my original works over the years) on a lot of different drug classes and their affects on different mental illnesses. Again, I am a grad student in Portuguese and not a psychologist, so I'm not an expert. Don't take drugs that aren't prescribed to you, do take the ones that are, and talk to your doctor if what you're taking isn't working or if you think you might become addicted to it.

Yuuri’s tears had quickly progressed into shaking sobs. However, when Viktor tried to calm him by wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Yuuri shrieked, “Don’t touch me!” and scooted beyond his reach. Viktor watched, helpless, as Yuuri’s entire body trembled and quaked, as he dug his nails into his scalp and banged his head on his own knees over and over again, until his forehead developed two bright pink splotches of color at the points of impact. Viktor watched and grew anxious himself, scared of whatever process Yuuri’s body was going through. Eventually, though, the younger man’s breathing began to even out, and his body uncurled itself.

Yuuri stretched his legs out in front of him and flopped his head back against the rail. He looked at the ground, at the increased space between them. He wouldn’t look at Viktor. “Sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to see that.”

Viktor reached his hand halfway across the gap, palm up. Yuuri looked at the hand, then at Viktor before tentatively placing his own over top. “You don’t have to apologize. Can I ask what’s wrong, though? It’s just that you looked like you were having a heart attack or something.”

“I wish I was having a heart attack. I…” he trailed off, and the silence returned for another moment. Viktor kept his eyes on Yuuri, who kept his own eyes fixed on their joined hands. Just as Yuuri opened his mouth to speak, an unfamiliar ringtone blasted from Yuuri’s pocket. He jumped a few centimeters into the air before pulling the phone—with a _poodle print_ case—from his pocket. He answered the FaceTime call. “Phichit-kun, shouldn’t you be in cla—”

“Yuuri, I found your Ativan in between the couch cushions; I dunno if it got stuck down there by accident while you were packing.”

Yuuri straightened his back and leaned in toward his phone. “You found it? I totally thought it fell out in the airport and I’d have to beg to get a new bottle. God, I feel like such an idiot. Have you seen the Elavil? I can’t find that either.”

Phichit asked, “Are you okay? Holy shit, you’re not okay. Are you outside? You look like you just had an attack. Where are you? Do you want me to call Celestino? I know he sometimes carries backups when you’re traveling together. Can you go inside somewhere for me? It’s got to be freezing right now. Do you remember that time you had to miss practice for a week because you had hypothermia from falling asleep at the rink? Yuuri? Look, I know it’s shit what happened to Vicchan, but you really need to go inside, okay? I am one hundred percent sure that Vicchan doesn’t want you to go make up for lost time with him now, okay? Shit, that’s probably the wrong way to say it. God, I really do suck at this.”

“Celestino already ran out, trust me. You don’t need to call him; he’s covering for me at the banquet. It’s cold, but it’s not hypothermia cold, and I’m not ready to go inside. Yes, I just had an attack. Or maybe I’m still having one? I dunno anymore if they should count separate or as one big fucker. Katsuki Yuuri, king of the thirty-six-hour panic attack. God, Phichit, I fucked up so bad.”

“No, you didn’t. Your sister fucked up so bad by calling you about Vicchan two hours before your free skate.”

“It’s not Mari-neechan’s fault.”

“No, it’s the drunk asshole who ran over your dog’s fault.”

Yuuri dropped his head back against the rail. “It’s so stupid. I haven’t even seen him in five years. You’d think I’d be able to keep my cool or something.”

On the other end of the line, Phichit scoffed. “Nonsense. You haven’t seen your mom in five years, either, and you’d be even more torn up if something had happened to her. That was your dog, Yuuri. Yours. You’re allowed to be upset, and you’re allowed to have a bad skate because of it, Grand Prix Final be damned. You can always go next year, you know.”

“Like I’ll ever qualify for the Final again. It’s all fucking luck that I got here this year.”

“See, you say ‘luck’ but I hear ‘Silver at Skate Canada and Trophee Eric Bompard.’ It’s funny how the sounds of your voice don’t match the reality at hand.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst.”

Viktor felt the companionable silence between the two. He was vaguely aware of Phichit Chulanont already, making his senior debut this season. He’d be a contender at Four Continents, but not likely at Worlds. He envied the obvious trust and love between Phichit and Yuuri. He had something of the sort with Chris, but nowhere near the level he felt radiating off of the Japanese skater and his phone.

“So,” Phichit said, “you said Ciao-Ciao ran out of his backups. How long ago was that?”

“I dunno, day of the short program. And he had the remnants of the Paxil I was taking last year anyway, so I was taking that until we ran out.”

“Yuuri, listen. What you’re going through is probably withdrawal from your meds. If you have another attack, try to focus on that, okay? It’s all the messed-up chemicals in your brain; you yourself have done nothing wrong. It’s just your neurotransmitters. Do you want me to call your doctor?”

Yuuri shrugged, then leaned away from the rail again, angling the phone to capture his own face better while avoiding having Viktor appear as well. “My doctor is gonna flip shit if she finds out, though. But it’s her fault she didn’t take me off it yet. I mean, at least I didn’t _over_ dose on anything. And I skipped the banquet, so I didn’t get drunk or anything either.”

“You’re not supposed to drink on benzos, you know.”

“Okay, first, I just said I _didn’t_ get drunk. Second, we just established that I haven’t even been taking the Ativan since I left because it was in the fucking couch. Third, I’m also supposed to be taking a tricyclic antidepressant, and I don’t have that on me either, so I’ve been taking the SSRIs again, and I ran out of that three days ago. Fourth, I am a fucking adult. If I want to get wasted, I will go get fucking wasted.”

“Ha. _Fucking_ adult. Drunk Yuuri. Not gonna lie, I miss Drunk Yuuri like I miss Christmas morning.”

“You’re Buddhist.”

“It’s Jesus’s _birthday_ , Yuuri. Jesus, aka Viktor Nikiforov, and that is a reason to celebrate that transcends the boundaries of religion. Ah, now that I think about it, god, Drunk Yuuri is a beautiful disaster slut. You could’ve gone to the banquet, gotten wasted and seduced the pants off of the Russian Wonder himself.”

Instantly, Viktor felt heat rising in his face. He looked at Yuuri, who looked at him briefly before turning back to the phone. He turned his whole body so that there would be no possibility that Phichit could see who he was with. Yuuri’s face, Viktor noticed, had turned as violent a red as he felt his own must be. “Fuck you, Phichit.”

“No, you will not. You will go find that incredibly attractive living legend and fuck him. Think about it, Yuuri. You might not get many more chances.”

“Absolutely not. Once again, I am not drunk and will not be getting drunk.”

“I can see it now, though. Anxious Bab Katsuki Yuuri, fresh out of anxiety meds, self-medicates his way through sixteen flutes of champagne. He challenges the brat who harassed him during a panic attack to a dance off and wipes the floor with him because Katsuki Yuuri took a seminar on hip-hop and breaking.”

“Phichit, no.”

“Phichit yes. Moving on, he receives a challenge from Sex-On-Ice Giacometti, who takes his ill-got knowledge of Yuuri’s Pole Aerobics courses and cajoles Drunk Yuuri into a full show. He throws his pants and wears his tie as a headband. Across the room, Silver-Hair-Gold-Blades feels his heart thrum in his chest. Or maybe he feels his dick thrum in his pants—”

Yuuri covered his face with his free hand and peeked over at Viktor through his fingers. “God, stop now, please. I don’t need that image in my mind right—”

“You always need that image in your mind. A man that beautiful has got to have an absolutely sculpture-level peen. Anyway, let me finish. He decides, tonight is the night to finally throw caution to the wind, to finally unleash his rainbow from his chest where all of us little queer boys are watching him. He helps Drunk Yuuri back into his clothes, and Drunk Yuuri swings him into a salsa. Then a side by side flamenco. Then a merengue, then a tango. Drunk Yuuri dips the Wonder Man in his arms! They part with the ghost of an almost-kiss reaching both of their lips. In the morning, Viktor is thoroughly seduced and Drunk Yuuri becomes Hungover Yuuri, who remembers shit. After months of pining, one day Russian Legend has had enough with it all, packs up his doggo, and flies to Detroit in order to convince the Beautiful Banquet Boy to marry him in Vegas, preferably yesterday.”

Yuuri flopped so that he lay flat on the ground and held his phone above his face. “Phichit, you are the worst. The absolute worst. I may die from embarrassment.”

“You will not.”

“Here lies Katsuki Yuuri. Tolerable skater, Mental Mess, Ate Too Much Pork. Done in by His Best Friend’s Shitty Exposition.”

“I am writing this down and posting it on AO3 and tagging it Shitty Exposition.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me and adore me, which is why you are smiling. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah, actually. It was just cringe-worthy enough of a story to remind me that I could’ve fucked up even worse than I actually did.”

“RPF Drunk Yuuri did not fuck up, okay? RPF Drunk Yuuri got his man, and they became a gay power couple that single-handedly destroyed homophobia the world over with the power of their love. Are you ready to go back inside, Yuuri?”

“Not quite,” he said, leaning back against the rail. “But you don’t have to stay on the line with me. Aren’t you supposed to be in class soon, anyway?”

“Oh shit, you’re right. Fuck. Hey, promise me you’ll go inside soon, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Ugh, fine. Just be careful. I know how you get when you get overwhelmed. Take care of yourself for two more days, and then I will pamper you like a child until you leave for Nationals. Call me tomorrow, okay? I mean it.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Phichit.”

“Love you too, bitch.”

With the end of the call, Yuuri groaned and rolled onto his stomach, facing away from Viktor. “I am so sorry you had to hear all of that. Phichit has a…vivid imagination… If he’d known you were there, it would have been worse.”

For the first time in a while, Viktor was thankful that Yuuri couldn’t see a single part of his body, which had felt tense from the moment Phichit had begun talking about him (about _them_ ). From this angle, Viktor allowed himself, only for a second, to look at the rest of Yuuri beyond his face. He felt the heat pooling in his gut in a way he hadn’t let himself feel for years. He cleared his throat. “What does, um, what does RPF mean?”


	4. Fourth Hour

Viktor stretched out on the concrete next to Yuuri, back to the ground and hands behind his head. Yuuri rolled from his stomach to his side and bent his knees slightly, just enough to be comfortable without pulling them into a fetal position. Another stretch of considerable silence passed between them, and Viktor was beginning to feel himself doze off when Yuuri spoke again, “I tried to kill myself once before, you know. A long time ago. The only people who know are my mom and my dog—well, I guess it’s just my mom now. My dad and my sister still think it was an accident, but it wasn’t.”

Viktor turned to prop himself on his side and look at Yuuri. His mind raced with questions that he’d never thought to ask himself about his own suicidal impulses. From what he could tell, Yuuri was a well-loved person, and if even a well-loved person could want to kill themselves, how easy would it be for Viktor. Viktor, who was never a person to anyone he knew but instead a figure—the face of Russian athletics, the face of international figure skating, the face of the winter Olympics. Viktor, whose only love was Makkachin and the push-and-pull relationship he’d had with Yakov since childhood. If Yuuri with his wealth of love wasn’t immune, then how on earth could Viktor be? “When did you do it?”

“I was fifteen. There’s some pretty heavy stigma about talk therapy and mental health practices in Japan, right? Earlier that week, I overheard some kids in my school say that they would rather have someone they love die than have it come out that they were in treatment for a mental illness. And then again, the next day after that, I was helping in the onsen and a guest that I was serving told his wife that he thought if all crazy people just killed themselves, that would be better for society. I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was eleven, and I had just recently been diagnosed with depression at the time. I didn’t have a therapist, you know? I had medication. Lots of medication.”

Yuuri took his glasses off of his face and tucked them into a zippered pocket on his jacket. “After I started treatment in Windsor, I compared the way I was prescribed, and I realized that they’d been giving me doses as a _child_ in Hasetsu that were illegal for _adults_ in the West because of how high they were. So, I overheard these kids and then I overheard this man, and I was adjusting to a new drug, and then I had this panic attack—a really bad one, worse than the ones you saw earlier—at my first Junior Grand Prix event of the season. And I realized that I was crazy, and I would never be normal, so it would probably be better for everyone if I just didn’t exist anymore.

“I felt like a huge burden on my family financially, even though by then the JSF had started subsidizing a lot of the costs. My only friends in school were my two rink mates, who were both older than me and in none of my classes. My sister had run off with some guy and was living in Fukuoka getting her ears pierced and smoking and dying her hair for the first time. And my parents, I know they love me, but they’ve never understood skating. Like, they can see if I fall, but they can’t tell the difference between a sit spin and a camel spin. They have no idea how it’s scored, or how the competitive circuit works, or anything about it. And they’ve never really tried to understand it. I know it’s a petty thing, but especially back then, I felt like they didn’t want to understand it because it was about me. I felt like they would never actually voice their displeasure, but they must be disappointed in me, or ashamed, or _something_. I’ve always been athletic, physically strong, but I’ve also always been mentally weak. I knew they had to be ashamed of having such a disgrace for a son. It all kind of boiled over together.”

Viktor reached to brush a strand of hair away from Yuuri’s face. He shifted himself closer to Yuuri, so that the space between their bent knees was less than a centimeter. “It didn’t work, though.”

“No, it didn’t. Vicchan, that’s my dog who just died, when he couldn’t find me, he went crazy looking until he managed to break into the hot springs, where he wasn’t allowed. I was in a concealed, private bath, slumped over the edge and almost falling in. He kept nipping at my arm until I woke up, then ran to get my mom from the kitchen. They got there just in time to watch me sink under and pull me out before I got too much water in my lungs. When I got to the hospital, they did a stomach pump to get the drugs out of my system. I had to withdraw from my second JGP event. Officially, it was classified as an accidental overdose, but my mom and I both knew that I’d done it on purpose. I begged her not to tell my dad or my sister the truth. She told me it would be our secret, if I wanted it to be. That she wouldn’t tell anyone I didn’t want to hear. After it was over and I started to stabilize on different meds, I told Vicchan everything. Any thought or feeling or emotion I couldn’t control, I turned to Vicchan. I practiced my English on him.

“It was around then that I saw this American movie on TV— _Girl, Interrupted_ —and I started doing some research on other countries’ approaches to mental health. I realized that if I wanted to even try to get control of my mind, I needed to be in a Western country. I thought about killing myself every day through all of high school, through all of my Juniors competitions, through all of the year of my senior debut, but I kept holding out for college in a Western country, where I could get access to better care. It’s funny; I live in Detroit, but my therapist is actually in Canada, and I buy all of my medication in Canada, too. The US isn’t anywhere near as bad as Japan, but Canada is even better. I’d never be able to afford my meds if I bought them in the US. Don’t get me wrong; Ciao-Ciao is a great coach, but I definitely chose his offer because of where he was located.”

“I’m so amazed by you, Yuuri,” Viktor said when it became clear that Yuuri had finished talking. “You’re sick, genuinely sick with a debilitating, chronic condition, and you’re hiding the extent of it brilliantly, might I add. No one I know has a clue that you deal with anything more than slightly above average performance jitters. But here you are, victim to an illness that makes it difficult to function on a daily basis for over half your life, and you’re one of the best figure skaters in the world in spite of all that. It’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed by how strong someone is before. I—I wish I were as strong as you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, his mouth opened into a small o shape. “Um. Wow. Um. I… no, sorry, um. I don’t know what to say, so I’m just going to shut up now.”

Viktor laughed, then turned his face away, just enough to break eye contact. “I’ve never been to a therapist, you know. I guess I never saw the point? I was so angry as a teenager. Angrier than the little Yuri is now. I played at being petulant and elfin for so long in order to hide my rage, but then when I got caught with that boy…Yakov convinced me to change my image in case the press got wind of it, but my father disowned me completely. I haven’t seen him since. Not that there was any love lost there, but still. He always looked down on figure skating, wouldn’t let me practice unless I was done with all sorts of assignments he’d come up with for the family business. He was grooming me to take over, on the condition that I never fall into homosexual behavior. I didn’t even get a second chance.

“Until that moment, I had been running on hidden rage. And it just kind of—popped, like a bubble. Popped and dissolved into nothing. I think I’ve been growing emptier and emptier ever since then. I’ve felt more emotions in the past few hours here with you than I have in the past few years. Everything was just so numb, like I couldn’t feel anything. And what’s the point in living like that, right? I’ve been thinking about killing myself for years, but it’s also always been like, what’s the point in dying if there’s no point in living? But I just—this time, I couldn’t convince myself not to jump. I would have, if you hadn’t shown up. I know I would have. I—I don’t think I want to kill myself anymore, at least not tonight, but Yuuri—I have no idea how to go on from here. I don’t know if I can go back inside and put on the media smile. What do I do?”

Yuuri placed his hand on Viktor’s face. “You know, one of the things that’s kept me going was a desire to compete against you. I’m not sure what to do next, either. Besides try to do it again and actually, you know, not fuck everything up and get my lowest score of the season.”

“You wanna beat me?”

“That’s highly unlikely.” Yuuri pulled his hand away, and even though his skin was just as cold as his own, Viktor found himself chasing and mourning its loss.

Viktor lay back again and stared absently at the purple-black sky. “Not with your programs. You can pull off bronze at Worlds, but if you want to beat Chris, you’ll need to move your jumps around. If you want to beat me, you’ll need new choreography. Choreography that’s actually worthy of you.”

“Bet you anything Ciao-Ciao is gonna suggest I downgrade my jumps for Nationals so I can put the mental energy on ‘deep breathing’ and ‘mindfulness’ and ‘not panicking.’ As if it’s a switch flipped by the quad Salchow. I fucking hate the quad Salchow.”

“I noticed.” He sat upright and snapped his fingers, which caused Yuuri to startle. “You should come to St. Petersburg instead of going home. Practice with me. I’ll help you with the Salchow, and you can help me with—”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can really help _you_ with, at least in terms of skating.” He pushed himself up and fixed a bemused face on Viktor.

“You can help me love it again. I loved skating so much when I was a kid, and in a way, I still do, but I need something more if I’m going to finish out the season.”

Yuuri’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “I wish I could go with you. But I can’t really afford to change my flight, and Phichit has my meds, and there’s no way I can go until the end of the month without them. Besides, you’re probably going to hate me once we leave this rooftop.”

Viktor felt his heart stop. “Why would you say that?” he asked, then held his breath against the answer.

The younger skater paused before waving his arms at the space in between them. “Because being here with you, finding out how much we have in common, you _liking_ me—it’s all too good to be true. You’re going to wake up in the morning and see me as that pathetic loser who had all those panic attacks on the roof, whose best friend made jokes about your genitals without knowing you could hear.”

“Hmm. While I can see how your mind has reached that conclusion, I’m going to have to argue that you’re definitely wrong. I’m going to wake up in the morning and see you as the man who saved my life.”


	5. Fifth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEMME PAUSE AND GIVE A BIG SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIENDS AND EDITORS/BETA READERS, DENRHEA AND BLUSKATES. READ THEIR SHIT, BECAUSE IT'S FABULOUS #CHANGETHELOCKS #DOUGLASISLIFE

First it was Viktor’s phone. Chris. Viktor ignored the call, let it ring straight to voicemail. Then it was Yuuri’s phone. Chris. Yuuri, who was now sitting next to him with his legs crossed and knee flush against Viktor’s thigh, handed the phone to Viktor, who ignored the call. When Chris called Yuuri’s phone again, Viktor passed it back with a shrug. Yuuri rolled his eyes and accepted the call, putting it on speakerphone.

“Yuuri, darling, how are you feeling? Word got around that you’ve been fighting a flu. I’ve been worried sick over you all night.”

“Hi, Chris. I’m fine. I actually feel a lot better now than I did a few hours ago, so no need to worry over me.”

“Really? Perfect. Do you feel up for an after party?”

“I—I don’t think so, Chris, sorry. I’d better not…”

“Are you sure? I’m going to try to find Viktor; he skipped the banquet, too, can you believe it? I’m so proud of him. I can introduce you properly this time if you promise not to run away like a cornered deer again, darling.”

Viktor held his finger to his lips, and Yuuri elbowed him in the side. “N-no, that’s okay. I really shouldn’t be out drinking right now. And I wouldn’t want anyone else to have what I have.”

“Alright, well, you’ll be missed. Feel better, Yuuri.”

“Thanks, and sorry again. I hope you have fun, and good luck finding Viktor.”

As soon as Yuuri hung up, Viktor shoved his shoulder. “I can’t believe you encouraged him to find me. There’s no way I’m going clubbing with Chris if you’re not going.” Viktor’s phone began to ring. He ignored it. “Seriously, why would you do that?”

The call went to voicemail. “You already skipped one event,” Yuuri said. “You can skip another. You can dodge his calls or turn your phone off or something, you know. You don’t have to answer. I only answer my phone if it’s my family or Phichit or Celestino. Even then, it’s still only about a 60/40 percentage rate.”

“You answered Chris.” The phone began ringing.

“I’m feeling bold.”

“Oh?”

“Can I see your phone?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing special, I promise.”

Viktor sighed and passed the ringing phone to Yuuri. “Tell him I’ve been abducted by aliens.”

Yuuri answered the call and placed the phone on his lap. Chris’s voice came through the speaker, “Viktor, _mon ami, voulez-vous venir_ —”

“Hi, Chris,” Yuuri interrupted.

“Yuuri?”

“I, um. I found Viktor for you. He says he’s been abducted by aliens.”

“Suddenly I feel the after party can wait. Where are you guys?”

Yuuri looked at Viktor, a question in his raised eyebrows. Viktor shook his head. “Secret,” Yuuri said. “Aliens. Influenza.” He began to giggle, which morphed into a laugh. He braced himself by grabbing onto Viktor’s thigh, which got Viktor laughing too. Yuuri pulled himself together. “I haven’t slept in like two days,” he said, “and I think I’m at the point where I can actually see aliens.”

“You haven’t slept in two days?” Viktor moved from sitting next to Yuuri to kneeling across from him, hands on his shoulders. “You should be in bed right now. What time is it? How long have we been up here? God, Yuuri, I should take you back to your hotel room right now.”

“Don’t wanna,” Yuuri said. He leaned forward to rest his head against Viktor’s chest. “Don’t wanna see Ciao-Ciao. Let’s stay up here instead.

Through the phone, Chris whistled low. “You’re on the roof, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t come third wheel your date. If you need condoms, though, just let me know. Though I am a little jealous of you, Viktor. You know how I feel about Yuuri’s Dionysus-divine ass.”

“ _Au revoir_ , Chris!” Viktor nearly shrieked before launching himself at the phone to end the call. Too late, he realized how close his face was to Yuuri’s stomach, to Yuuri’s body. Yuuri uncrossed his knees while Viktor stood up and took two steps away. He started shaking out his limbs, which were cold and falling asleep.

“Dionysus-divine. What does that even mean?”

“Dionysus, the Greek god of wine. Has Chris encountered Drunk Yuuri, then?”

Yuuri bent forward to stretch his back and his legs. “Chris witnessed the birth of Drunk Yuuri. No, Chris created Drunk Yuuri. I don’t spend a lot of time with him or anything; I mean, we’re not close, but yeah, I’ve gone out drinking with him a few times. I…kind of avoid him when I’m sober? I know it’s not his fault I don’t remember shit when I get drunk, but it makes me feel extra awkward sometimes.”

After twisting his torso into a couple more stretches, Yuuri raised up his hand. Viktor grabbed ahold of him at the wrist, and Yuuri latched on. Viktor pulled Yuuri to his feet. “Chris is entirely harmless, you know. He talks a big game, but he’s actually super monogamous. He has a boyfriend and a cat and Harry Potter glasses that he uses to read.”

“Didn’t stop him from comparing my butt to a Greek god.”

“Excuse me, your best friend is the one who described me as having a statuesque penis.”

“I believe the phrase was ‘sculpture-level peen.’ You’ll have to forgive Phichit; he’s technically still a teenager.” Yuuri shivered and checked the time. “Holy shit, it’s almost one in the morning. And it’s now negative three degrees. Fuck.”

“We should go inside.”

Yuuri took one last look at the rail before looking at Viktor. He shook his head, eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I don’t want to go inside yet.”

Viktor pulled Yuuri into a hug, and Yuuri shivered against him. “I’m not going to change my opinion of you just by passing through a doorway. You’re not still thinking about jumping, are you?”

“Too cold. Maybe later.”

“Okay, then let’s go inside together. We don’t have to split up, you know. We can keep talking. Your room, my room, any of the lounges on any of the floors—just tell me where you want to go, and I’ll follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but hey--they're going inside!


	6. Sixth Hour

They sat in the stairwell between the twelfth and fourteenth floors. Viktor leaned against the wall, and Yuuri leaned against him. At first, they’d taken the stairs down from the roof because it was necessary, but as they grew closer to the floors where they were staying (Viktor on the seventh, Yuuri on the ninth), Yuuri had slowed and hesitated with each step. Eventually, Viktor just sat down, claiming fatigue. Yuuri didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate to sit as well. The stairwell was good; it was neutral ground and not a place where they’d be likely to run into anyone. Viktor wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s waist and rested his temple on the wall.

Just as Viktor felt his eyes begin to droop, Yuuri’s phone began to play the same ringtone as before. Yuuri groaned and buried his face in Viktor’s shoulder for three seconds before he looked up and answered the Facetime call.

“Yuuri—holy shit, is that Viktor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri jumped and scrambled to put a little space between their two bodies, and Viktor almost whined from the lack of warmth. “Phichit, sorry, hi, um…I can explain?”

Viktor took the opportunity to lean in closer to Yuuri. “Hi, Phichit! It’s nice to meet you. Yes, I’m Viktor. Congratulations on your senior debut.”

“Oh my god you know my name. Be still, my soul. I am dying right now. Yuuriyuuriyuuri when they put me in the ground, make sure my headstone reads that I have been slain by joy and embrace the end.” On the screen, Phichit held his phone away from his body and placed his fist on his heart.

“I thought you wanted me to scatter your ashes at the poles and along the equator at opposite points on the globe so that you can protect the world from the four horsemen of the apocalypse.”

“I’m Buddhist. I don’t believe in the apocalypse.”

“Fine, I’ll protect the world from the apocalypse without you.”

“Yuuri, I hate to break it to you, but you’re also pretty damn Buddhist.”

“I’m actually pretty damn Shinto, which, yes, modern-day Shinto owes a lot to and borrows a lot from Buddhism, but you conveniently forget that and erase the specificity and history of Japanese culture and spirituality in pursuit of pan-Asian solidarity against the Christian apocalypse, but you know.”

“If the apocalypse is a Western theological phenomenon, would we be in danger in Detroit but safe in Bangkok? Oh my god, we should get Ciao-Ciao to move us to Bangkok right now.”

“Christianity comes from the Middle East, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. Try my reincarnation; he might be down.”

There was a long pause before Phichit began laughing. “Remind me to never take another seminar on world religion with you.”

“Fuck you.”

“In a heartbeat, my friend.”

“Phichit, stop. No. Why are you like this?”

“Sorry, Yuuri, have you ever seen your own ass?”

“Can you not? I have an average ass, and you know it.”

“Excuse me?” Viktor interrupted the banter. “What do you mean, you have an average ass? There is nothing average about you, Yuuri, and the top of the list of your exceptional traits is definitely your Ina Bauer, but your ass is a very close second.”

“Oh my god. I’m dead. That’s it, this is the end of me. Phichit, donate my dakimakura to the GSA and burn the rest.”

“No way. I am keeping the ukiyo-e book.” Phichit stopped talking, and Yuuri didn’t reply. Viktor could feel a sudden tension growing. “Yuuri, I hate to break up the party, but remember what we talked about when I called before?”

“It’s okay, you can talk in front of Viktor.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s okay. He won’t tell.”

“Okay, if you’re sure…” He paused again, as if waiting for Yuuri to change his mind. When Yuuri just nodded, Phichit said, “Okay, I have good news and news that is good that you’re not going to like. The good news is I found the Elavil.”

“And the bad news?”

Phichit hesitated for a moment before he spoke, “You mean the good news you’re not going to like… Look, I don’t want you to be mad, but I called your doctor for you.”

“Fuck,” Yuuri said through gritted teeth. “I told you it would be okay.”

“It’s not okay, though, is it? I’m really worried about you. I looked up the symptoms of benzo withdrawal—don’t give me that face—and I know that under normal circumstances, you would never, but what I read said that you’re at a super increased risk right now for suicidal behavior, and you—”

“It’s fine, Phichit, I’m fine. Look, I even went inside,” he said, turning the phone in a semicircle to show off the indoor space of the stairwell. “I’m not alone because I’m with Viktor. I haven’t had another panic attack since the one right before you called the last time. I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“Does it matter? You worrying isn’t going to teleport my meds. It’s my fault I forgot them, it’s my fault things are shit, and you don’t need to care about it so much.”

“Well clearly, you don’t care about it enough. You’re irritable, that’s another symptom. Are you sleeping? I can tell that you’re not. You’ve already said you’re having way beyond your normal amount of panic attacks, and I could see when I watched you on screen the day of the free skate that you’re having fits of tremors. Are you having palpitations? Headaches? Nausea? Well, I can see that’s a yes from the way you look like you want to stab me. This shit is serious, Yuuri. I don’t know what your doctor’s gonna do, if she’s gonna get this under control by putting you back on and weaning you off it slowly, or if she’s just going to switch you to something else. If she does that, then you’re going to be like this for at least another three weeks, probably more like another two months. Maybe more.

“Look, I didn’t know what else to do, so I called and you have an appointment set for two days from now. It’s five hours after you land, so you should be able to make it fine, especially if we go straight there from the airport. Francesca’s gonna drive, and we’re gonna come pick you up and take you to the hospital.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and avoided looking at the phone. “The hospital. Right. Because there’s no way I can just go to her regular office. They’re gonna commit me. I don’t have time for that right now. I can’t believe you did this. I can’t compete in Nationals if they lock me in psych ward.”

“Oh, Nationals. So important compared to your health and wellbeing and your _life_. Sue me. You’re my best friend, and it’s all I can do to keep from freaking out with worry over here, because unlike you, I give a shit about you. Let me talk to your new friend,” Phichit said. Yuuri handed the phone to Viktor without arguing or meeting either of their eyes. “Look, Nikiforov, I don’t know how you ended up with Yuuri right now, but whatever you do, don’t let him out of your sight. I can end you, and if anything happens to Yuuri before I get him to the hospital, I will.”

Viktor could feel the frustration radiating off of Yuuri. He didn’t know how to respond without revealing how the two found each other, which would confirm Phichit’s worries and just upset Yuuri even more. “I… We’ll do our best with each other, okay?”

Phichit raised his eyebrows; the Thai skater must have understood what he was implying. “You know, I’m not going to ask. Where are you guys right now?”

“Stairwell. Why?”

“It’s what, like 1:45 in the morning where you are. You both should be getting some sleep, don’t you think? I don’t care whose bed you pick—”

Yuuri’s face turned scarlet. “Phichit!”

“I don’t care whose bed you pick, just go sleep in it. And actually sleep, okay. No bumping uglies.”

Yuuri groaned and rolled his eyes. “I already told you I’m not drunk.”

“This is Russia; I’m not allowed.” Viktor said, bitter and sharp. He felt both Yuuri and Phichit shift their focus to him, and he looked away from them toward the wall. “What? I’m a public figure in Russia. The FSFR has a code of conduct, and they’re pretty clear about _‘homosexual activity’_ in it.”

Phichit cleared his throat. “Holy shit, I’ve never thought about it before, but Russia is pretty homophobic. Omg. You poor child. Yuuri, new task. Keep yourself stable by taking care of our precious son in his hour of need. Can you do that?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at the screen. “I’m turning twenty-seven in two weeks; I am definitely too old to be your son.”

“Hush, now,” Phichit said. “Everything will be okay. Yuuri and I are adopting you, right, Yuuri? We’re going to be your gay parentals from now on.”

“This adoption is not legally binding,” Yuuri said. He blushed and looked from Viktor’s face to the floor.

“Yuuri, you big slut, of course not. I know you’ve wanted to tap that ass since grade school, no offense, Viktor.”

Yuuri separated from Viktor and took the phone back from him. “If your plan was to remind me not to kill myself, you’re not succeeding.”

“That would be funnier in other circumstances. Don’t be a bitch.”

“Don’t use sexist insults that equivocate feminine power and sexual expression with negativity.”

“Remind me to never take another seminar on gender and sexuality with you again.”

“You loved that class, shut up.”

“Not as much as you loved pole aerobics.”

“Goodbye, Phichit.”

“Wait, wait seriously—take care of yourself, don’t be alone, and call me when you need me. Promise me.”

“Phichit, seriously.”

“Promise me, mister.”

Yuuri sighed. “Fine. I will take care of myself and not be alone and call you if I need you. I will also go willingly to see my doctor and I will not resent you for it. Okay?”

“Deal. Okay, I am satisfied that you are not at this exact moment a danger to yourself, and I am satisfied that you are not alone should you become a danger to yourself. Now go sneak yourselves into a bed that won’t give the paparazzi a nosebleed or get Viktor fired. And sleep.”

“I’ll take him to his room, don’t worry,” Viktor said. “It was nice to meet you on the phone, Phichit.”

“Come visit us in Detroit! We can put you in a wig and take you to a gay club! Yuuri isn’t supposed to drink anymore, but we can still have fun.”

“I…I’d like that a lot, actually. Maybe after Worlds?”

“Sounds like a plan. Yuuri, don’t forget to give Viktor your real phone number. Give him mine too.”

“Okay, thanks, Mom. Goodbye, Phichit.”

“Bye, bitch, I love you!”

“You, too.” Yuuri ended the call and leaned his head onto Viktor’s shoulder. “I probably won’t sleep even if I’m in a bed. I know I just told Phichit I’d stay with you and wouldn’t be alone, but if you’d rather go to sleep, I will probably be okay for the rest of tonight. You don’t have to stay with me.”

Viktor took a quick glance to see if there were noticeable security cameras in the stairwell. When he didn’t spot any, he placed a kiss on the top of Yuuri’s head. Beside him, the smaller man froze. “I’d rather go anywhere in the world with you than spend even a minute of tonight alone.”


	7. Seventh Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks to Denrhea and BluSkates, as always, and also to the women of Gay Breakfast (who don't really know me, but we've met three or four times now?) for putting on that wonderful panel on LGBT+ rights and representations in Japan at Zenkaikon 2017 and then reprising it at Otakon this past weekend. They'll probably never see this note, but their panel is really the basis that I used to present Yuuri's take on homosexuality in Japan. Obviously, it's very abridged and imperfect; if you guys ever see their name at a con, either as running a panel or in Artist Alley, please go check them out! I am a huge fan.

“Of course. Nothing is ever easy. Fuck my life.” Yuuri started hitting his head on the wall next to the door to his hotel room on the ninth floor. “Everything about this week is the fucking worst. Fuck it all.”

Viktor placed his hand between Yuuri’s forehead and the wall. “You can just come to my room, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to put you out like that, it’s not fair.”

“I’m just as much invested in this as you are, you know. I’m not doing you any favors by being here. If nothing else, we can go to mine and I can call the front desk for you, and they can come unlock it for you.”

“I didn’t think I’d be coming back here when I left.”

“Well, neither did I, but I still brought my room key. Come on, let’s just go call the front desk and come back.” He tugged on Yuuri’s sleeve, and they walked back to the stairwell. They took the stairs quickly and sent furtive glances in all directions at the doorway to Viktor’s floor before dashing to his room.

Viktor reached for the hotel phone, but Yuuri stopped his hand. “I don’t want to see other people.”

“Are you asking to be exclusive?” Viktor threw him a wink.

“You know what I mean.”

“Aww, Yuuri, please? I never get to make these kinds of jokes. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’d sell my soul to be your boyfriend.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and sat down in the room’s armchair. “You’re just saying that because the only other gay guy you know is Chris.”

“Also your ass.” Viktor sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot next to him. “You know you’re welcome in my bed any time.”

“Stop that. God, you’re gonna be worse than Phichit, aren’t you? I’ve unleashed a monster.”

“You should take responsibility and marry me, then. Not here. Maybe France? Do you like France, Yuuri?”

“Slow down, there, Anna. You can’t marry a man you just met.”

“That’s a quote from a movie, right?”

“Viktor—what? Have you not seen _Frozen_? I am so confused.”

“It’s not like I have a lot of time to go to the movies. I probably haven’t been to see a new release since I was in school. What? It’s not a big deal.”

Yuuri gave him an inscrutable look. “I’m adopting you and giving you the childhood you deserve. Phichit was right, you are officially our son now.”

“No, don’t adopt me! You can’t adopt me!”

“Why not? You are obviously living a deprived life, Viktor, and you need us to rescue you.”

“Then marry me instead. Is gay marriage legal in Japan?”

“Not exactly. There are a couple of places where you can get a marriage or a civil union, Tokyo… But it’s not legal across the board. It’s stigmatized, but so is basically all public affection. It’s, um. Gay things are also kind of fetishized? Like, there’s the whole yaoi and shounen ai market, whose target demographic is actually straight women.”

“What’s yaoi?”

“Gay porn, kind of. Manga and anime that feature male same-sex relationships. A lot of it is really inaccurate, though, and based on really toxic concepts of homosexuality. I don’t read it a lot. Shounen ai is all romance and no sex, but it’s built on the same kind of portrayal of homosexuality. When I started to get more popular, I got asked to do some commercials that played into the whole thing, too. It’s kind of terrible. You’re stuck here languishing, unable to express your sexuality, and mine is being used as a marketing device to sell cereal to straight women.”

“Everyone in Japan knows that you’re gay?”

“Yeah. I donate a percentage of all of my prize money to LGBT rights and mental health advocacy, too. I’m really lucky with my family, especially about my sexuality, but no kid should be overmedicated the way I was growing up, and everyone should be able to get married to whomever they so desire, so I do what I can with the money I make.”

Viktor sprawled out on the bed. “You’re so much braver than me. Hey, you just told me I couldn’t marry a man I just met. What if whomever I desire is a man I just met?”

“I would advise against it and suggest eight to twelve months of candlelight dinners, mud wrestling and body shots before a cheesy but romantic proposal on the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of May. However, I would campaign for your right to a hasty and ill-advised marriage at first sight anyway.”

“Is that what you would do? Candlelight dinners, mud wrestling and body shots?”

“Not sure about the candlelight or the mud wrestling, but the body shots are a must. I cannot begin to describe how much I want to be taken off Ativan right now. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic or anything, but it’s so dangerous to drink while on a benzo. Plus, they’re really not good for long-term use. I feel like I should’ve been taken off it two months ago, but the season was starting, and we thought it might be bad to change my meds during the season in case it fucked with my performance. I mean, obviously, not taking it this week fucked with my performance.”

“Shit, you’re supposed to be lying down, I forgot,” Viktor pushed himself up from the bed and grabbed Yuuri’s wrists, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, lie down.”

“Not necessary,” Yuuri said, but he allowed himself to be led to the mattress. Viktor turned on a bedside lamp before shutting off the main light in the room. Yuuri chuckled. “Dimming the lights?”

“I told Phichit I’d take care of you. He threatened to end me. I’d rather not be murdered, thank you.” He climbed onto the bed next to Yuuri and placed a hand between them, palm up. Yuuri blushed when he took the offered hand. Viktor smiled. “When did you come out to your family?”

Yuuri laughed. “I didn’t get to. It’s, okay this is actually pretty funny. I realized I was gay when I was like, twelve. It’s actually pretty ridiculous, since I’m _literally in a bed with Viktor Nikiforov_ , but oh my god, I am about to actually tell you this. So I saw you on TV, it was the Junior World Championship, the one where you wore that black bodysuit with the mesh and the crystals and the half skirt—and my friend Yuuko, she was already a fan, so she was super excited for you to perform, and she dragged me into the break room at our rink, and when I saw you perform, I just knew that no girl would ever compare to what I was feeling. Which was aroused. Sorry. Oh my god. I should stop now.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I fell in love with people on TV when I was twelve, too. I want to hear this.”

“Ugh, fine. So, I knew I was gay, but I didn’t really know how to talk about it? At first, I didn’t even think it was a big deal, but I guess something about my aura must have changed, because I started getting bullied a lot, and it was really frustrating because I already didn’t have many friends, and except for Yuuko and Nishigori, the ones I did have backed away. I started thinking that if I talked about it with my family, they’d start picking on me like the kids at school did, even though they always encouraged me with the dancing and the skating and I didn’t really have a foundation for that fear. It was like this for a long time, and worrying about what they would think or say about it really bothered my anxiety, so one day I decided that if I told them and they hated me, I would just disappear and then none of us would have to worry about it anymore. It was pretty close to my birthday, so I decided to tell them on my birthday, because hopefully them being happy about my birth would remind them that they love me.

“I don’t know which one of them it was, but someone in my family overheard me talking about it with Vicchan, and for them it was like, they’d just been waiting for the chance to throw me a big coming out party or something. So my whole family, Minako-sensei, Yuuko and Nishigori all worked together to turn my birthday party into a surprise coming out party. Once they were all at the inn, I wanted to announce it, so I said I had something I wanted to say. My mom cut me off, and asked me to please open my presents first, so I did. Minako-sensei gave me _Revolutionary Girl Utena_ on DVD, Yuuko gave me an imported copy of an American magazine special edition dedicated to gay athletes. Nishigori—and this still makes me laugh—gave me a yaoi manga that he said the girl working at the store recommended to him. My dad gave me these two books by Mishima Yukio, _Forbidden Colors_ and _Confessions of a Mask_ , which are both about closeted gay men. My mom got me a CD of Akihiro Miwa’s greatest hits, as well as a biography of him. And my sister gave me a book of Edo period ukiyo-e prints featuring gay men. A lot of it was probably a lot more explicit than what my parents should have let a fourteen-year-old have, but they were so concerned for me because of my anxiety that they wanted to go full-force with it.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. I was disowned, so I’m totally in awe right now. I would love to meet your family.”

“Your parents are awful.”

“Parent. It was just my dad who disowned me.”

“Oh. What about…what happened with your mom?”

“She killed herself when I was twelve. I guess I take after her after all, huh. But I know what would have happened if she had been alive when I got caught with the Zara boy. She would’ve tried to kill me.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything, but he squeezed Viktor’s hand before pulling the Russian’s knuckles to his lips and placing a kiss on them. Viktor squeezed back. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“There isn’t much to say, really. She was cold, all the time. Exacting and demanding. Everything I did had to be done perfectly, and if I failed, she made her displeasure known. She didn’t hit me very often or anything, but when she did, she really went for it. She broke my arm once when I was nine, and I had to tell the doctor that I’d fallen on the ice. The last time I saw her, she told me that she regretted not having an abortion when she could, that she knew I was going to turn out a pervert fairy someday, and that she wished we were all dead. I told her if she wished we were dead then she should just get it over with. So she beat me nearly unconscious and shot herself in the head. My father had never wanted much of anything to do with me, but he took care of me for a couple more years. I was smart, very good at math and finance, so he kept pushing me toward it, hoping to keep me distracted from skating and the possibility of being gay. He never expressly forbid the skating—I think he knew that if he did, I would have run off into the arms of the first man who’d take me. And then when I started winning and representing Russia, he became proud of the fame.”

“Does anybody else know about this?”

“Yakov. He was already my coach, and he had to know while I was in the hospital, and then I had to go to my mother’s funeral, and he came to that for me. Yakov’s not perfect; I mean, he’s one of the people who pushes me to hide my sexuality the most, but even if everyone else does it out of fear and hate, I know that he’s just trying to protect me from what could happen if I was out. Yakov is the king of the closet, after all—he was married to his beard for thirty-five years. Whether or not he’ll ever admit it.”

“Oh my god, I just realized how many gay men in Russia are actually Yakov’s age and have been hiding for that long. Maybe I should start donating to LGBT rights in Russia.”

“I would love you forever.”

“You should donate some of that gold medal stash, then.”

“I wish I could. I—I wish I could. It would probably ruin my career.”

“You can do it anonymously. I donate anonymously toward this one mental health advocacy group based in Fukuoka that’s been building up a Western-style mental health practice in the city. Nobody knows it’s me sending them that money, not even them. The only people who know about my mental health are my family, my doctors, Phichit, Celestino and now you. I’m pretty sure no one will want to market my anxiety and depression to sell cereal after all.”

“Would you say that you’re in the closet about your mental health?”

“Yes, very. But there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having a mental illness.”

“Touché.”

Silence grew between them again. Viktor watched Yuuri close his eyes; maybe he’d be able to sleep in the dim light of Viktor’s hotel room better than he’d been doing on his own. Before tonight, all Viktor could reliably say about the Japanese skater was that he was consistently underscored because the judges didn’t expect much from him and that his steps and spins were better than his own. He could also reliably think he was one of the most attractive skaters competing right now, but it had been so long since Viktor had indulged in his sexual attractions that he didn’t give it much attention. Now that Yuuri was here, a beautiful, ostensibly single, gay man beside him in bed, Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off him. He wanted, suddenly and strongly, he wanted Yuuri. He wanted, and if the past hours had shown him anything, he was allowed to want when he was with Yuuri.

With his free hand, Viktor stroked his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and down his cheek. Yuuri smiled and shifted closer to him. When he opened his eyes, Viktor pulled their linked hands to his own lips and kissed the younger man’s knuckles. “Yuuri,” he whispered, “are you going to fall asleep?”

“I don’t think so. I was just resting my eyes. Are you?”

“I don’t want to. Yuuri, I want to ask you something, I’ll take whatever answer you give me and I’ll respect it. I won’t ask you again or pressure you or get upset, and if you say no, it’ll be okay, but I really hope you’ll say yes.”

Yuuri inhaled sharply and held it, his pupils dilating even more than they already were. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Yuuri, can I… Can I please kiss you?”

He didn’t answer with words. Yuuri let go of Viktor’s hand and placed his own on the back of his head, then pulled the older man toward him. The first kiss was small, barely a press of lips, but the second grew into a third, which deepened until Viktor felt like he was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some notes on Yuuri's Coming Out Day presents. A lot of this info is straight from Wikipedia; I would not pass a turnitin.com test on these paragraphs.
> 
> 1\. Akihiro Miwa is an 82 year old Japanese singer, actor, director, composer and author. He writes most of his own music and has written over 20 books. Miwa is openly gay, and a drag queen who is known for having shoulder-length bright yellow hair. Here's a video I found, just audio of Akihiro Miwa speaking on bullying. Make sure the subtitles/captions are turned on if you don't understand Japanese: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYag-MBmzyc
> 
> 2\. Confessions of a Mask (1949) and Forbidden Colors (1951) by Mishima Yukio are both considered to be semi-autobiographical accounts of life as a closeted gay man in post-war Tokyo. Mishima committed seppuku in 1970 after a failed coup d'etat to restore the Emperor to his pre-war status and power.
> 
> 3\. Revolutionary Girl Utena (manga 1996-1997; anime 1997) follows Utena Tenjou, a tomboyish teenage girl who was so impressed by a kind prince in her childhood that she decided to become a prince herself, expressed in her manner of dress and personality. She attends Ohtori Academy, where she meets a student named Anthy Himemiya, a girl who is in an abusive relationship with another student. Utena fights to protect Anthy and is pulled into a series of sword duels with the members of the Student Council. Anthy is referred to as the "Rose Bride" (薔薇の花嫁 Bara no hanayome) and is given to the winner of each duel. It is said that the winner of the tournament will receive a mysterious "power to revolutionize the world", and the current champion is constantly challenged for the right to possess the Rose Bride. (this paragraph is straight from Wikipedia; I'm not trying to hide that).


	8. Eighth Hour

Yuuri kissed like a man on a mission, and Viktor was drowning. He was drowning, and he was ready for the ocean to swallow him whole if it meant he could keep drinking in Katsuki Yuuri. He may have been close to twenty-seven years old, but Viktor was decidedly inexperienced. Yuuri quietly guided him, demonstrated through action, and Viktor copied, reciprocated until he felt confident enough to try different things. Yuuri’s hands buried into his hair, his arms looped around Yuuri’s torso. They kissed slowly, deeply, like a fountain of molasses, sweet and heavy and fluid.

After what could have been an eternity or could have been a single grain of sand falling in an hourglass, their kisses grew faster, hotter, impatient. They had been on their sides, but now Yuuri was on top of him, kissing his jawline, tugging on his earlobe with his teeth. Viktor moaned into the bite, and Yuuri scraped his teeth along the top of his ear before pulling the lobe again. He felt himself getting hard, and noticed the growing bulge in the front of Yuuri’s track pants. Viktor surged to meet Yuuri’s lips again, lifted the edge of his shirt with his hands and felt the skin underneath. Yuuri rose a little and pulled the shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor. He crashed into Viktor again, kissing into his chin and his neck. Viktor sat up to tear his own shirt off, and Yuuri pushed his lips onto the newly-exposed chest, kissing and licking and biting Viktor’s skin.

All Viktor could think was _Yuuri_. His scent, his smile, his quiet acceptance and even quieter pain. _Yuuri_ , his doe-eyes in the lamplight, his black hair stark against the purple night sky. _Yuuri_ , and all that he had ever longed for in a person—someone who didn’t judge him or parade him, someone who didn’t value the medals more than the man. _Yuuri_ , shaking and trembling, falling on the ice, skating anyway, getting back up over and over again. _Yuuri_. Viktor wanted, and with a press of his lips, he flipped them so that he was on top. Yuuri pressed back with his lips, pulled their torsos flush, and there through the fabric, _Yuuri_. Viktor moaned into his mouth and kissed him again while pressing back against his pelvis.

Yuuri froze, tapped Viktor’s shoulder frantically. When Viktor pulled away, Yuuri sat up and started shaking. He pulled his knees to his chest, and hid his face, held his hands behind his neck. Viktor could hear him breathing slow and deliberate, in through his nose and back out through his mouth. He was trying to keep from hyperventilating. Viktor sat back on his heels and reached to touch him, but pulled away when he remembered the panic attack on the roof. 

“Yuuri? What can I do?”

Yuuri shook his head, his whole body moving with it. He stayed like that for another two minutes before his breathing became erratic. He jumped up from the bed, paced in small circles, scratched at his arms leaving bright red trails on his skin from his nails. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” he whispered over and over again, completely lost to Viktor and his surroundings.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” Viktor said. “I—I know we probably shouldn’t, it’s okay. If you don’t want to, then we don’t, okay? It’s up to you.”

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Why can’t I do this? I can’t do this. I can’t do this. He’s gonna be mad, don’t let him be mad. He’s probably so mad. I just ruined this. I ruined it. He’s going to hate me. He’s going to hate me so much. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I don’t want him to hate me. He’s going to hate me. He already hates me. He’s got to hate me. I can’t do this.”

Viktor got off the bed and put a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yuuri, stop. Hey. Look at me. There’s no pressure. I can’t say I don’t want to, but if you don’t want to, then I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

Yuuri stared at Viktor through a cloud of fear, but something in the hand on his shoulder had snapped him out of it enough to respond. “C-can I use your shower?”

“Of course. Do you want to borrow some clean sweats for when you’re done?”

He nodded. “Sure. I—”

Viktor dug into his suitcase until he found the clothes he’d been saving for the flight home tomorrow. “I don’t hate you, I’m not going to hate you, and I’m not mad at you,” he said when he handed the stack to Yuuri. “Have a good shower, Yuuri. I’ll be out here when you’re done, okay?”

“Thank you, I, um, I’ll be back. Sorry. I—I’m really sorry. I want to. I really do. I’m… I’m not _drunk_ , and I… I’m sorry.”

Viktor placed his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders again. “Shh, go take a shower. Talk to me after. It’ll help you relax.” He kissed the top of his head and lightly pushed him in the direction of the bathroom.

Yuuri locked the door behind him. A minute passed before Viktor heard the shower turn on, and then a few more minutes before he began to pick out the sounds of crying. Part of him wanted to wait by the door for Yuuri, but he also knew that Yuuri would come down from this panic attack on his own, just like he’d done on the rooftop, and he probably needed space to be able to do that. Still, he leaned against the wall next to the door, trying to process what had happened between them.

So much had gone wrong, so quickly. The speed with which they went from cuddling to kissing to arousal was dizzying, but the speed with which Yuuri descended into another panic attack was twice as bad. Viktor felt unhinged, as if he’d finally been given a chance at escape only for the last bridge to freedom to collapse under his weight over a gorge. An hour ago, he’d been convinced that life was worth living again, that emotions were worth feeling again, that joy and trust and sorrow and pain were all safe.

_Yuuri_. He knew it was unreasonable to put all of his hopes on Yuuri. He’d been privy to not one, but two serious conversations between Yuuri and Phichit about the state of Yuuri’s mental health. He already knew that Yuuri couldn’t be his only salvation. He didn’t just know it, he believed it, too. He believed that Yuuri could guide him along the path, one and a half steps ahead, but he couldn’t be the path. So why did he feel like the ground was collapsing out from under him?

Maybe this is what he deserved for denying himself for all these years. Every glance he didn’t return, every ‘accidental’ collision on the streets of Paris, every half-drunk bar-crawl with Chris and Mássimo where he kept himself in check. Karmic retribution for his actions of quiet acceptance of the act that ‘ _there are no gays in Russia_.’ He was in Russia, in Sochi even, the last place he’d traded messy handjobs with a cross-country skier on the Canadian Olympic team, all the while terrified that he’d be caught—either by the FSFR or the Russian Olympic committee or even by Yakov, who had faced much more scrutiny in his day and was left to live his life practically celibate and married to his best friend turned bitter enemy.

Viktor would never be able to fake a happy marriage to a woman, but he was well on the way to a life of self-imposed celibacy. Yuuri—Now that Viktor knew the texture of his tongue and the taste of his skin, he would never be able to kill his sexual feelings toward the other man, though he might be done for the rest of humanity in general. In his mind and in his nose, there was only _Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri_ —and his want only grew with the cadence of his name repeated like a chant. To think, only nine hours ago, he’d been so close to jumping.

If he couldn’t make things right with Yuuri, all of this newfound will to live would be destroyed, and he would be alone again. The thought made him nauseous.

His mind drifted to his father’s gun cabinet. Viktor could barely tell the difference between a handgun and a shotgun, but he remembered the roundness of the barrel pointed at his face, cold blue eyes and silver hair on the other side. He tried to shake her out of his memories, but all he could think was _why didn’t she shoot?_ Had she already thought him dead, since he was unable to move? Had a shred of motherly affection suddenly infected her so that in her final moment, she chose to spare him? Spare him for what? For a decade and a half of solitude and disappointment, of empty medals and empty beds. These days, he never thought of his mother, except in every moment of every hour.

When he got home, would he be able to pull the trigger? So much depended on Yuuri, and Viktor knew it wasn’t fair. Yuuri, who was sick. Yuuri, who was staring down the barrel of a hospital stay that could end his season. Viktor needed Yuuri, selfishly wanting and wanting from the bottom of his soul. But Yuuri didn’t need Viktor beyond the sunrise, when Celestino would take him away on their flight back to Detroit.

He sighed, pushed himself off the wall and pulled his shirt back on, traded his pants for a softer pair of joggers he’d worn earlier that week, climbed into bed on the side opposite the lamp. He could try to fall asleep. Yuuri might leave after the shower, though, and he’d promised Phichit to stay with him through the night. Unlike Yuuri, though, he wasn’t used to staying up all night long, and he was exhausted. If he could just close his eyes for a minute or two…


	9. Ninth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget the Archive warning and the tags...

Viktor flickered back to consciousness when the light shut off. Yuuri was sliding into bed next to him, careful to not disturb his sleeping body. “Yuuri?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

Yuuri flinched. “I thought you were asleep, sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Wanted to be awake. Can I hold you?”

Yuuri slid closer to Viktor. “Okay.”

Viktor curled into Yuuri and slung his arm over the other man’s stomach. “Been so long since I held someone,” he said. “Always just me and Makkachin. I’d go crazy without her, you know. No one ever holds me.”

Yuuri twisted in his arms so that the embrace was mutual. “I’m so sorry about before,” he said. “I really did want to keep going. I just…”

Viktor’s mind perked, and he pushed his sleepiness away. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s been kind of an intense night, and I feel like I’ve known you forever, but we really just met less than twenty-four hours ago. I’m sorry I pushed you; I think I got over-excited, just because it’s been so long, you know?”

Viktor felt Yuuri’s forehead thunk into his chest. “I don’t. Know. I don’t know, you know?”

Inside Viktor’s embrace, Yuuri’s body was still trembling. Viktor stroked his hair with his left hand and pulled him even closer with his right. When the tremors stilled, Viktor said, “I do have a question, Yuuri, but you definitely don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

“O-okay.”

“Are you a virgin?”

Yuuri chuckled, but Viktor could hear a pinch of bitterness inside the laugh. “Not exactly no. But not exactly yes. I…I don’t know…”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” When Yuuri didn’t respond, Viktor thought back through all of their conversations. Yuuri had never once mentioned a lover or a partner, but he’d seemed mildly surprised that Viktor was more celibate than a monk. His best friend lovingly called him a disaster slut, but he seemed completely unaware of his own attractive qualities. There was something else, though, some missing piece. When it dawned on him, Viktor held Yuuri even tighter. “When you said you weren’t drunk…”

 

“It’s…it’s terrible, I know… I’ve never even kissed anyone sober before tonight, but sometimes when I get drunk… Well, there’s a reason Phichit calls me a slut, you know. Drunk Yuuri is really good at sucking cock and really bad at saying no, even if he wants to. It’s just, half the time I don’t even remember what happened, and I’ll wake up in the morning somewhere I don’t recognize and have no idea how I got there or who I was with. It’s happened more than once, and I… It freaks me out sometimes, especially the couple times I woke up completely naked and covered in spunk. And then there was this guy on the lacrosse team who sometimes came to GSA. I, well we weren’t dating or anything, but we were friends for a while before I knew he was into me. I tried to play oblivious, but it didn’t work very well to deter him, you know.

“So I was at this frat party last year, and lacrosse guy was there, and he kept hitting on me, and I’d already had a couple of drinks, and I was frustrated because I’d just missed qualifying for the Final, so I snapped at him that if he’d promise to leave me alone for the rest of the year, I’d suck him off in the bathroom. I remember drinking something right then, but it wouldn’t have been enough to get blackout drunk, you know? Or at least I didn’t think so, but maybe I’d had more than I thought? But I was pretty sure it was only my third or fourth drink. Anyway, the next thing I know, I’m waking up in this guy’s dorm room, and I’m alone. I know we had sex, but…I would’ve thought it was a really weird dream if it weren’t for how sore I was when I got up to look for my clothes.

“He was at all of the same parties I was at, and I don’t really remember most of it, but I think we had sex a few times, because I kept waking up in his bed, right? One time I kind of remember being asleep and waking up, and him on top of me, but it could’ve been a dream or my imagination, like, the whole thing was really weird. We hooked up like that for a couple months, until I heard that lacrosse guy started bragging around to all his friends that he finally fucked the Jap. I didn’t… I don’t… If I’d known he was going to talk about it like that later, I don’t think I would’ve ever done it, you know? Phichit just thinks I have lots of sex, but it’s… Is it even really sex if I don’t remember it? I mean, I can’t say if it even happened half the time. I just know that I’ve never once done anything sober before tonight, and it freaked me out. I’m so sorry, Viktor. I’m so sorry.”

Viktor held Yuuri tighter. “Why are you apologizing?”

“You know, when we were in high school, Yuuko and Nishigori used to joke that I’d save myself for you. Which, I guess if I hadn’t ever discovered alcohol, I would have. When I started taking Ativan, I stopped drinking and going to frat parties, so I haven’t seen lacrosse guy all semester.”

“Well, thank goodness.” Viktor kissed the crown of Yuuri’s head again. “Here I was, trying to figure out what I’d done to mess everything up earlier. I’m so sorry that happened to you, Yuuri. That guy belongs in jail.”

Yuuri startled, pushed himself just enough to catch Viktor’s eyes. “What? Why would he belong in jail?”

“You can’t be serious right now. He raped you.”

“No, that’s not. It’s not the same. It’s weird, yeah, but it’s not… That doesn’t make it…We—I was drunk. It just happened like that because I was drunk.”

“If you can’t remember, or if you’re too drunk to consent, then it’s rape. Russia may be an incredibly backwards country in regards to sexuality, but I do know what rape is.” Viktor buried his face in Yuuri’s hair. “Can I tell you a story about a rinkmate when I was younger?”

“Do I want to hear this?”

“How well do you do with uncomfortable truths that provide a painfully honest reflection of your own reality?”

“I’m much better at giving than receiving in that department.”

“Well, too bad, because this is a gift for you from one Viktor Nikiforov. I hear you were a fan of his when he was younger, so I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

“You really are going to be worse than Phichit.”

“Shh. So this was a couple of years after my mother died, the same season that I got my first JGP assignments. I had a rinkmate, Tonya, who was making her senior debut that year. She was amazing, Yuuri, you have no idea. I wanted to be just like her. I followed her around, I copied her routines, I basically idolized her. Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry, it’s just—Yuuko and I used to copy your routines when we were younger, too.”

“You did? Yuuri, that’s… Wow, that’s such a compliment. Are there any videos of it?”

“Nonono, don’t get distracted. You were telling me about Tonya.”

“Right. So one day, Tonya gets to the rink wearing this brand new coat, and she’s all giddy with happiness. ‘Vitya,’ she tells me, ‘I have a secret, and if you promise to keep it from Yakov and my parents, I will tell you.’ She then whispers to me that she’s got a new boyfriend, and he’s older than her, and he likes to buy her lunch, and he bought her the coat, and it was real suede leather, and wasn’t it soft. I didn’t understand what was so secret about it until I met the boyfriend. He was older than her father, and looking back, he was clearly grooming her. I told Tonya that I thought her boyfriend was old, and she told me she didn’t care, because she was in love. And this man kept buying her lunch and giving her gifts. She thought that because she was making her senior debut, that made her an adult, but she was only fifteen. When she got pregnant, the man was arrested for statutory rape and sentenced to twelve years. Tonya was heartbroken; she was in love, how could they take him away? But she was fifteen, and according to the law, too young to consent. When everything came out, Yakov sought out some materials on dating and sex and sexual assault and made all of his skaters sit through lectures on safe sex practices, knowing the signs of an abuser, and consent. It was all straight, but the same things hold true no matter your orientation. I paid a lot of attention in those lectures, probably because of everything that happened with my mother…Yuuri, lacrosse guy is bad news.”

Yuuri was still in Viktor’s arms for a long time before he finally whispered, “I never thought about it like that.”

Viktor reached to touch Yuuri’s face with his fingertips. “You are so beautiful, Yuuri, so kind and generous and brave. No man deserves to touch you without your pleasure as his utmost priority. Some other day, in the future, when neither of us are so wound up in our problems, and maybe when we’re not physically in Russia—I would like to be that man.”

“You still want to? Even after I freaked out and had a panic attack?”

“I cannot begin to express how much I want you, Yuuri. And no, it’s not because you’re the only single gay guy that I know right now.”

“Hmm… Then why? I’m a really fucked up individual, you know.”

“Hey, so am I. But I—I don’t want tonight to end and watch you walk out the door and then never see you again. I don’t want to not say what I want to say, to not make a move and regret it. I am so tired of lying about who I am, and you don’t make me do that. Yuuri, I am so attracted to you, and you—you reminded me of who I am when I thought I lost all sense of it at all. And you keep surprising me. Every time I do something or say something that I could never say, I keep waiting for you to judge me, turn on me, hate me. But you never do. You’re intelligent and funny and clever, and you care so much about activism. You’re involved in the world, in a way I’ve never been allowed to engage it. Your eyes are so dark and shining, it’s like looking into a well whenever you look at me. You, you’re just so _you_ , you know? I’m entranced by you, and I never want this night to end.”

Yuuri kissed Viktor on the cheek before flipping to his other side. He shuffled closer to Viktor, pressed his back to the taller man’s chest. “I think I must be dreaming,” he said once Viktor’s arm was in place over his stomach. “I never in a million years would have thought I could have you. I’ve looked up to you for so long, it almost doesn’t seem real. I don’t want tonight to end and wake up from this dream to find out it never happened, and I definitely don’t want tonight to end only for you to realize how much of a burden I am and decide against me. You—you deserve the best in the world, you know. You deserve so much better than a guy like me. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise that I will never judge you or hate you for any aspect of who you are. I’ve been half in love with those glimpses of you for half my life, you know. I named my dog after you and everything.”

“Wait—you named your dog after me? I thought his name was Vicchan?”

Yuuri groaned, buried his face into the mattress. “Fuck. I said that out loud. This is how I die. Tell Phichit I loved him like a brother and I hid his DVD of The King and the Skater II in Ketty’s violin case. Tell him to tell Ketty that I’m sorry for being an asshole, too. Bury me in the mountains, in one of those pods that turn your body into tree food.”

“No, stop, don’t die; I need to understand this.”

“Can I die after I tell you?”

“No, I reject that. You do not have my permission to die.”

“Ugh. I already told you I popped a boner the first time I saw you on TV; I guess it’s not that much worse. So Vicchan is like, a nickname of ‘Viktor.’ My mom is definitely going to call you that when you meet her, by the way. So his name was Viktor, but we always called him Vicchan.” Yuuri pressed closer to Viktor’s body. “If you really want to date me, this is going to be weird. You really probably don’t want to date me; I probably look like a psycho stalker fan.”

Viktor nuzzled his nose into Yuuri’s hair, breathed in the scent of his own shampoo. “Nope, I definitely want to date you. I just don’t know how to go about it. You’ll have to teach me.”

“Not like I have a lot experience,” Yuuri said into the mattress.

“But you have a lot more confidence.”

Yuuri laughed. “That is something no one has ever said to me about anything. The whole reason my skating sucks is because I have no confidence.”

“So how about this,” Viktor said. “I help you build your confidence in your skating, which, by the way, does not suck, and you help me build my confidence in my sexuality.”

“And we keep each other from dying. Viktor, please don’t…Don’t get to that point again without talking to someone. I know I’m a hypocrite right now, but you…You’re so important to me. If something happened to you…”

“Okay. I help your skating. You help me come out. We don’t die. Deal?”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a little earlier than I usually do for AceMoppet and NelyafinweFeanorion, who need to go to bed at night. Don't be a Yuuri if you can help it; sleep at night. Sleep is good.
> 
> Also, I am starting to sketch out a sequel to this story, and I am interested in knowing what kind of things you'd like to see in the days and weeks that follow Viktor and Yuuri's long, long night together. Even though the themes are very similar, I would like it to be very different from my other fic, "Ningen." So let me know what you envision for these boys after they go home, and I will take it into account when I start writing part two. Thanks!


	10. Tenth Hour

Viktor nudged Yuuri with his forehead. “Yuuri—are you asleep?”

Yuuri groaned and shoved his elbow into Viktor’s stomach. “Fuck you”

“Oof. Hey. Sure, gladly.”

“Why. Why is this my life now?”

Viktor reached up to put his finger on Yuuri’s lips. “Shh. Your forehead crinkles a little when you’re annoyed, you know.”

Yuuri licked Viktor’s finger. “So? Everyone’s does that. It’s not special.”

Viktor wiped the spit off of his finger onto the sheets. “It’s really cute on you, though.”

“Viktor, please.”

“What?” He began flicking Yuuri’s earlobe.

Yuuri swatted at his hand. “Fuck you.”

Viktor moved on to tickling under Yuuri’s chin. “Again, gladly. Take me anytime. I would deny my father and my name.”

“Please, no Shakespeare at five in the morning.” Yuuri grabbed his hand and held it tightly, moving both of their hands away from his face.

Viktor held onto Yuuri’s hand and allowed a comfortable silence to fall between them. After another ten minutes, he squeezed Yuuri’s hand and asked, “Are you going to sleep at all?”

Yuuri sighed. “Probably not. I haven’t really slept the past couple nights either. My meds are supposed to knock me out, otherwise I don’t ever sleep.”

“That sounds miserable. I never pull all-nighters like this. I love sleep.”

“I know. You skipped the thirty-minute warm up because you were asleep on a bench in the locker room.”

Viktor gasped, feigning shock. “Aww, you saw me and didn’t say hi.”

“Michele Crispino saw you.”

Viktor kissed the back of Yuuri’s head, then blew a cool breath into his hair. He watched the black strands part and shift under the breeze. “Seriously, though. You’re friends with Chris. You were at Worlds the past couple years. How come we’ve never met before?”

Yuuri shifted inside of Viktor’s arms. He let go of the hand and dug his fingernails into his arm. “Crippling anxiety, panic attacks, depression, embarrassing hero worship, take your pick. Chris did try. I, um… I don’t know if he actually likes me or if he just likes me when I’m trashed… Like, I don’t know if he thinks of me as a friend or not…”

Viktor gently pried Yuuri’s hand away from his skin. “Do you think of him as a friend?”

“I—I don’t know… Most of the time, I feel like Phichit is my only friend. Yuuko and Nishigori are still great, but they’re so busy with the girls and they still live in Hasetsu, and I haven’t seen them in five years, so we’re not close anymore. I hate putting all of that pressure on Phichit, though. He knows the ins and outs of my anxiety better than I do half the time. Phichit deserves a better best friend than me.”

Yuuri sighed and twisted until he was laying on his back, crushing Viktor’s arm beneath his shoulder blades. Viktor allowed his arm to be crushed and flopped onto his back as well. Yuuri shuffled closer until his head was on Viktor’s chest and Viktor could feel his fingers again. “I know he wants to help,” Yuuri said, “but he shouldn’t have to. It’s not fair to him at all. I mean, he’s still only nineteen. He shouldn’t have to take care of me like that. You know that if you get involved with me, it’ll be like this a lot, right?”

“You say ‘if’ as if it’s still a question.”

“We could get married and live together for sixty years, and I’d still wonder if I’m too much for you or if you secretly resent me and want to leave.”

“I like the whole ‘get married and live together for sixty years’ thing. That sounds like a plan. I always thought I’d be single until I died. Marriage to someone that I’m actually attracted to—it sounds like a myth.”

“Marriage to someone who’s attracted to me sounds like a myth.”

“But you live in the US. It’s legal there.”

“I can get married, but I’m not attractive.”

“You really have never seen your own ass.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t want to. I never want to stop complimenting your ass. Ever again. I would trade my soul to see your ass every morning.”

Yuuri sat up and shuffled to the edge of the bed. Viktor had to bite himself to keep from whining. He couldn’t help reaching for Yuuri’s hand and asking, “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. I’ll be back.” Yuuri squeezed Viktor’s hand before letting go and disappearing into the bathroom. After a minute, Viktor heard the toilet flush and the sink water run. He heard the tap close and saw the line of light underneath the door flicker out.

At that moment, a sharp knock sounded on the door from the hallway. Viktor jumped out of bed. His heart began racing; it could be Yakov. Yuuri was still here. He hit himself once on the forehead. Of _course_ this could happen. Why had he suggested this? Why had he allowed himself this? If Yakov saw Yuuri in his room, he’d be forced to cut contact, all contact, with the other skater, and he couldn’t do that. Not now. Yuuri had made him feel comfortable, safe. But that feeling was enough of an illusion that both were now in danger. Yuuri may be out, but Viktor…Viktor wasn’t allowed to be. Would—would someone hurt Yuuri in order to keep him away? The thought made Viktor nauseous. St. Petersburg was tolerable, but some places in Russia…Yuuri was still in the bathroom. If he stayed there, quiet, then maybe they wouldn’t be found out. If they got caught, Viktor would rather kill himself than lose the one tenuous grasp he had on hope for a life after figure skating. And he would do it, if he lost Yuuri.

The knocking grew louder. “Oi, Viktor!” a voice shouted his name. Yuri Plisetsky was outside his door; he checked the time on his phone. “Come on, wake up! Viktor!”

Viktor whispered a quick “Wait here,” to Yuuri through the bathroom door before throwing on a groggy expression and opening the door to the hallway. “Yuri,” he said, “It isn’t even five thirty in the morning. Are you okay?”

“I fucking know that already, geezer. I wanna skate. I need you to help me sneak into the arena.”

“Really? That’s what you want right now? Go back to bed, Yura.”

Yuri pushed his way into Viktor’s room and turned on the main light. Viktor winced and shielded his eyes. Yuri said, “No way. I can’t fucking sleep, and I want to fucking skate. Yakov will flip shit if I go and break in alone. You’re awake now, so you should come with me. No one’s gonna get pissed at _you_ for skating when you’re not supposed to.”

“I’m gonna get pissed at me. Yura, please go away and talk to me at a decent hour. The sun won’t rise for another two hours.”

Yuri sat on the edge of the bed. “Come on, Viktor. I really want to go skate.”

Viktor sighed and rubbed his temple before he looked at Yuri. The fourteen-year-old looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night long, and he bounced his knee without noticing what he was doing. “What’s this really about, Yura? If you can’t sleep, there’s probably a reason.”

Yuri Plisetsky rolled his eyes. “There’s no fucking reason, idiot. I just can’t sleep and want to go skate with all this free time. And you skipped the fucking banquet, so I had to spend the whole boring time with Yakov. You owe me.”

“I’m tired,” Viktor said. He pushed his hair out of his face, revealing the deep bags that had formed under his eyes. “And I don’t feel well. I’m not going to go skating right now. Look, if you don’t want to talk about what’s keeping you up, then go back to your room. Pack your stuff. You can meet me for breakfast downstairs in like half an hour if you want, is that okay?”

“Ugh fine. Don’t help me.” Yuri pushed off of the bed and stalked to the door. “I’m going to crush you next year when I enter the senior division, you know. I’ll crush all of you wimpy jerks.”

“Wimpy?” Viktor remembered suddenly what Yuuri had said earlier, that Plisetsky had insulted him in the bathroom. “You’re disappointed that your favorite didn’t do well, aren’t you? Is that keeping you up, Yurotcha?”

“Shut up, don’t call me that. Only my grandpa calls me that.”

“That’s what it is, isn’t it? Did you say something to him?”

“Ugh leave me alone. I should have fucking asked the hag to go with me, not you.”

“Rumor has it he was actually pretty sick, so you can’t really blame him. Have you ever skated through a flu or anything like that?”

“At least I wouldn’t cry about it in a fucking bathroom stall like a fucking moron.”

Viktor imagined Yuuri on the other side of the door, listening to this conversation in Russian. Was he terrified or amused? Relieved it was just the little Yuri or afraid of being caught no matter who it was? If little Yuri stuck around much longer and kept Yuuri trapped in a dark bathroom, Viktor feared another panic attack would soon envelop the man. Phichit had said that Yuuri was harassed during a panic attack; it had to have been Plisetsky. “Do you even know what he was crying about? Maybe something happened that’s unrelated. What if somebody got hurt and he was getting bad news? That’s all possible, and on top of being unwell—you ought to give other people a little bit more benefit of the doubt. Imagine if something happened to your cat while you were at a competition.”

Yuri’s eyes widened in fear. “My cat better be alright when we get back, and if he’s not, I am blaming you.” He pulled open the door and went into the hallway.

“I’ll see you at breakfast!” Viktor called in a singsong voice as Yuri huffed toward the elevator. As soon as the door to the hall closed, Viktor tapped on the bathroom door. “Yuuri, are you okay? He’s gone; it’s safe to come out now.”

Yuuri opened the door slowly, hissed at the light, and hid his eyes behind his hand. Viktor could see deep, half-moon indents along his forearms. One set of three impressions on his left arm had drawn blood. Viktor gasped and gently held the arm in his hand. “Yuuri—”

“I tried to keep quiet; I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Yuuri cut him off. “I started to panic, and I had to keep quiet. It was an accident. I—I—”

“Let’s get it cleaned up, okay?” He led Yuuri back into the bathroom, flipped the lights and turned the water on. When the stream from the faucet adjusted to a warm temperature, Viktor washed Yuuri’s cuts with the hotel soap. “Yuri Plisetsky feels guilty about yelling at you,” Viktor told him with an even voice. “He’s torn up enough about it that he’s having trouble sleeping. I may have guilted him a little more until he stormed off. I told him I’d go get breakfast in half an hour.” He dried Yuuri’s arm with a clean hand towel and led him back to the main room.

“Oh,” Yuuri said. “Um. Should I…Should I stay here? I don’t know what to do. I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’m not used to hiding this kind of thing.” He sat on the edge of the bed while Viktor dug through his suitcase for his first aid kit.

Viktor pulled a small tube of antibiotic ointment from the box and coated the pads of three small bandages with the gel before taping them over Yuuri’s cuts. “I think, if the coast is clear, you should come to breakfast with me. We can say we met in the elevator, no?”

“A-are you sure?” Yuuri’s eyes shifted from side to side. “I really don’t want you to get in trouble. I should have gone back to my own room. I’m so sorry for causing you trouble.”

“It’s okay,” Viktor said. He didn’t know how it was going to keep being okay, if they could pull off any sort of relationship while Viktor was still skating, but for right now, it was okay. Yuuri hadn’t been caught, and it hadn’t even been Yakov at the door. Of course, if the little Yuri had seen them together and talked about it later, that could have been a lot of trouble, but Yuuri didn’t need to know what they’d dodged. “I want to go to breakfast with you. Yura will just also be there. Is that okay with you? Can you be around other people again?”

Yuuri looked at the floor before turning his face toward Viktor. He smiled. “I think so. If it’s quiet and if it’s with you. Um, we’ll need a little bit of a plan, I think, to, um. To get me back into my own hotel room after if you don’t want anyone knowing I was here all night.”

Viktor nodded. He could come up with something that would allow them to leave together, that would get Yuuri back into his hotel room, and that wouldn’t be suspicious to anyone else that might be in the hotel dining room. He could come up with a plan. He had to. “This is the last time,” he said. “The last time I hide who I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to Linkin Park for the past like, five hours while I write and work on cosplays. I want to see Vitya skating to them; how about you? RIP Chester.


	11. Eleventh Hour

The elevator opened to the lobby, and Viktor followed Yuuri out. His body felt cold without the Japanese skater pressed against it, but Viktor knew to keep about fifteen centimeters of space between them. They entered the hotel restaurant together, picked a table for four near the wall, and opened two menus while they waited.

“Oi, geezer,” Yuri Plisetsky announced himself, entering the room. Viktor waved him over. At the table, he stood and looked at Yuuri. With a jerk of his thumb, he asked in Russian, “What’s he doing here?”

Viktor responded in English, “We ran into each other in the elevator. I invited Yuuri to join us. You don’t mind, right, Yura? I know you’re a fan.”

“I’m not a fan of crying losers,” Yuri said, switching to English.

“Play nice,” Viktor snapped. Across the table, Yuuri seemed to collapse into himself, shoulders pulling in and forward until his entire body seemed shrunken. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but it was too late for them to back out now.

Yuri grumbled and sat next to Viktor. He eyed the older Yuuri up. “You look like shit,” he said, then grabbed a menu. “The fuck is wrong with you.”

Yuuri shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I—I’m sorry about my free skate. I’m sure you were disappointed in me.”

Plisetsky rolled his eyes. “Just retire already and make way for the better Yuri—ow, Viktor!”

Viktor smiled as he pulled his elbow away from the teen. “I said play nice. Yuuri, I heard from Yakov that you were sick?”

Yuuri caught his eyes before looking away. “Something like that. I, um—” he looked toward Plisetsky, but not at him. “My dog died. And I had a…a medical problem…so it was a really bad week…um, not that you need to care or feel sorry for me or anything…it just is what it is…it’s my own fault for getting so worked up about it…sorry, I’m just—” Yuuri wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and looked at the corner of the closest to him. “He was a good dog, you know? A really good dog.”

Viktor reached across the table and put a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder before pulling it away. Yuri blushed and looked away from the two older men. “I guess that’s okay, then. I forgive you for your shitty skate.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Thanks, Yuri.”

A waitress came and took their orders, and silence fell between them while they waited. The group ate silently, Viktor afraid to talk too much with Yuuri, afraid that the third to their party would pick up on the sudden intimacy between them. He was also afraid to talk to Yuri, in case a conversation would distract the boy from his contemplation. They ate in a disconcerting silence, trading furtive glances between each other.

When they were almost done with their food, a deep voice called out, “Yuuri! Ciao ciao!” and all three startled at the sound. When he looked, Viktor saw Yuuri’s coach, Celestino, walking toward them.

“Ohaiyo, coach,” Yuuri said. He began pushing the last few bites of his food around his plate with a fork.

“Oh, good, you’re eating. I’ve been worried about you. I went to knock on your door and you didn’t answer. At least now I know you were just already down here.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri said. He didn’t meet Celestino’s eyes. “Um. Uh. Did Phichit-kun call you last night?”

Celestino shook his head. “No, but my wife did and filled me in.” The Italian coach glanced at Viktor and the little Yuri before turning his attention back to Yuuri. “Will you come talk with me, Yuuri? I know you’re very private about these things.”

Yuuri looked from Viktor to Celestino. Viktor couldn’t tell how the younger man was going to answer; it would compromise their plans to say yes, but it would also be difficult to say no. Yuuri opened his mouth to respond when his body was hit with a wave of tremors. He grabbed onto his forearms again, winced when he hit his cuts, shifted his hands to find purchase through the sleeves of his jacket.

“Holy fuck, what’s wrong with you?” the little Yuri said. “It’s not that cold in here.”

Celestino sat next to Yuuri. “Can I touch you?” he asked, and when Yuuri nodded, the coach placed a hand on his back and began rubbing circles. “Are you with me?”

Yuuri nodded again. “It’s just tremors,” he said. “It’ll pass in a minute.”

Celestino kept rubbing circles into the tensed muscles of Yuuri’s back, and Viktor felt a flash of jealousy. It wasn’t that he wanted to be the one helping Yuuri; he was jealous of the coach and skater who showed no fear of a physical connection in public. There was nothing sexual about Yuuri’s relationship with Celestino, and nothing sexual about Celestino’s actions, but still Viktor felt a sharp wound to his heart that no one had ever touched him in such a caring, almost paternal way. The closest he had to a father-figure was Yakov, and Yakov would never show such emotional care. A hug after a skate, yes. Rubbing circles into a back? Never.

When the tremors finally stopped, Yuuri pushed his plate out of the way and dropped his head onto the table. “This fucking sucks,” he said. “Everything is fucking awful and I want to die.”

“Hey, no dying,” Viktor said.

Yuuri looked up, annoyance clear on his face. With a smirk toward Viktor, he said to Celestino, “Tell them to put that Harvey Milk quote on my tombstone; ‘If a bullet should enter my brain, let it destroy every closet door’. Bury me in San Francisco.”

“Have you ever even been to San Francisco?” Celestino asked. “Wait, that’s not what I should be—Yuuri, if I had known this was going to happen, I would’ve sent you back as soon as we realized—”

“No way,” Yuuri sat up straight, eyes burning. “No way was I going to withdraw. Fucking up and losing is better than withdrawing. I wouldn’t have done it, and you know it. It’ll be fine. Tomorrow, we’re gonna land, and I’m gonna go to the fucking hospital, and it’ll be fucking fine.”

Celestino sighed. “You don’t have to be so short, you know. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t have to be so worried,” Yuuri huffed. “It’s my fault, not yours. I didn’t double-check that I had my meds with me.”

The little Yuri tugged on Viktor’s sleeve, leaned closer to him and asked in Russian, “Do you understand what’s going on?”

“I guess he’s sicker than people realize,” Viktor whispered back. “He probably doesn’t want people to know.”

Celestino looked at Viktor and Yuri as if he’d forgotten they were there. He got up from the table and turned to Yuuri, “I’m always going to worry about you, you know. Francesca’s going to meet us at the airport, so when you pack up, make sure you check that you have all of your travel docs for the US as well as Canada; if you’re missing anything, call Phichit and ask him to get it to her, okay?”

Yuuri nodded once. “Okay,” he said.

“Alright, I am going to get out of your hair for a bit. Don’t forget that checkout is at eleven. Meet me in the lobby then?”

Yuuri nodded again, and Celestino walked off toward the far corner of the restaurant. Once he was out of earshot, Yuuri groaned. “This is going to fucking suck. I don’t think I can deal with three flights with Ciao-Ciao right now, especially if it doesn’t end with me and my PS4 for seven straight hours.”

“You have a PS4?” Yuri asked. “What do you play?”

Yuuri smiled. “A lot of things. I’ve been wanting to play through _The Last of Us_ again, so maybe when I finally get back to my apartment, that’s what I’ll do. I really liked _Bloodborne_.”

“Cool,” Yuri said. “I like _Bloodborne_ , too. I’m really excited for _Overwatch_ to come out.”

“That’s in May, right? It looks so good. Next year, if we’re at any of the same competitions, we should play.” Yuuri smiled for a moment before his expression dropped into horror. He waved his arms in front of his face. “But only if you want to; you don’t have to hang out with me or anything. I just…I thought it would be fun?”

“Deal,” Yuri smiled, and it was the first genuine smile Viktor ever remembered seeing on the teenager’s face. “But I’m gonna beat you.”

Yuuri grinned. “We’ll see about that.”

Viktor smiled to himself and listened to the little Yuri grill Yuuri on videogames for a few minutes, glad that the topic distracted the teenager from the heavier aspects of Yuuri’s life. Little Yuri already had too many adult burdens, and Viktor hadn’t foreseen a chance encounter with Celestino that opened the door to give him more. When the waitress came with their check, Viktor quietly charged all three meals to his room before either Yuuri or Yuri could notice.

After a while, he could see Yuuri start to grow restless. He began checking the various pockets in his jacket, a signal to their escape plan going underway. Yuuri patted around some more before giving a pained face to the table. “I think I dropped my room key.”

“That sucks, Katsuki,” Yuri said. “Try the front desk?”

Yuuri shifted in his seat before turning wide, begging eyes on Viktor. He knew the look was more for Yuri’s benefit than to sway Viktor, but the Russian man felt his heart give out, and he knew that he’d do anything for Yuuri—whatever he asked—so long as he asked it, for the rest of their lives if he could. Yuuri said, “Viktor, would you help me talk to the front desk?”

“They speak English, you know,” the little Yuri said.

Yuuri flushed and looked at the ground. “But I don’t…I don’t want to go alone.”

If Viktor hadn’t come up with this plan himself, he’d believe every bit of Yuuri’s actions—he wasn’t convinced that the scene wouldn’t have played out exactly like this had they genuinely met in the elevator instead of both coming from Viktor’s room. “I don’t mind,” Viktor said. “I can go with you. Yura, are you packed yet?”

Yuri yawned. “Almost. What time are we leaving?”

Viktor pulled his phone from his pocket and checked his calendar. “The flight back leaves at three in the afternoon, so we’ll probably head to the airport at around noon. Checkout is at eleven, though. Do you think you can try to take a nap until then?”

“Shut up, Viktor, I’m not a child.”

“I wish I could take a nap,” Yuuri yawned. He propped his head on his hand with his elbow on the table and checked his phone. “I think this is sixty-eight hours without sleep now? I swear to God I am never doing this again. I’m going to staple the fucking bottle to my face if I have to.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?” Yuri asked.

Yuuri cocked his head to the side and looked at the teenager. “Huh? I don’t even know how to answer that question without a step-by-step through fifteen years of my medical history. Everything is wrong with me. Everything. If you can think it, it’s wrong with me.”

“Oh.” The little Yuri was quiet for a minute. “Well, that sucks.” He got up from the table and held his hand out to Yuuri, who hesitated before grabbing it. “You don’t suck, Katsuki. Good luck getting back in your room.” Yuri shook Yuuri’s hand once before skulking out of the restaurant and disappearing in the direction of the hotel elevators.

Viktor and Yuuri looked at each other for a moment in silence. “He didn’t even say goodbye to me,” Viktor said.

“He told me I don’t suck,” Yuuri said. He shook himself and smiled at Viktor. “It worked, though.”

“What worked?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “The plan. To get me back in my room without anyone knowing I was in yours. Are we going to go get a key now?”

“Right. The plan. Yes. Yeah, let’s go get you into your room.” He pushed himself out of his seat and offered a hand to Yuuri, who took it and used it to pull himself up.

“Good,” Yuuri said. He let go of Viktor’s hand and looked around quickly. It was still early, barely past six thirty in the morning. The only other diners in the restaurant were Celestino in the far corner and an elderly couple two tables away from the coach. None of the wait staff were in the main room. “Um, I have…well, I have, um. An idea. By the way. If you want. After I get back into my room. Something we should do. If you’re interested.”

Viktor smiled. “Yuuri, for you, I am always interested.”


	12. Twelfth Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for the first installment of this AU. It's more like an epilogue than a full chapter. Find the Lin-Manuel Miranda reference and you get 10 points to the Hogwarts house of your choice.

The bellhop opened the door to Yuuri’s room, and he and Viktor walked through together. The room on the ninth floor was nearly identical in layout to Viktor’s own, but instead of Viktor’s suitcase and clothing and cologne, this room was filled with Yuuri. Viktor inhaled deeply, already in love with the scent. The bellhop disappeared down the elevator, and Viktor checked the hall before closing the door behind them. As soon as the lock clicked into place, Yuuri pulled Viktor to him and began a deep kiss.

Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist, returning kiss for kiss with an unhurried passion. When they eventually broke away from each other, Viktor could see Yuuri’s lips were puffed and red. He felt his own lips with his fingertips and smiled. “I could get used to this, Yuuri,” he said.

Yuuri hugged him tightly and pressed his head to Viktor’s chest. “Me, too.” He let go and pulled his room key from his wallet. “So…my idea,” he said.

“Lead on,” Viktor replied.

“Okay.” Yuuri grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers. “Follow me.”

Yuuri led Viktor into the stairwell and began to climb. Viktor followed, a few steps behind at first, and then side by side with Yuuri. Between the fourteenth and the fifteenth floors, they held a race, then again between the twentieth and the twenty-first. Viktor beat Yuuri on the first flight, but the second one left Viktor winded three-quarters of the way up the stairs. Yuuri reached the landing of the twenty-first floor and waited.

Eventually they reached the roof access door. Yuuri pushed it open. Viktor hesitated, hung back just inside the frame. “Did you leave something up here?” he asked.

“I thought,” Yuuri said, “that maybe…” He kept his eyes trained on the floor and began to rub his arm. He took a deep breath and looked at Viktor. “I thought that maybe we could watch the sunrise together.”

“Oh.” Viktor could feel the blush rising on his cheeks. He stepped through the door, and Yuuri followed. They hung back by the wall of the entrance to the building, sat down on the cold concrete of the roof with their legs pressed together and hands clasped. Yuuri leaned his head on Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor ran small circles into the back of Yuuri’s hand with his thumb. The dark sky was already lightening from the bruised purple they’d met under.

Yuuri kissed Viktor’s collarbone through his jacket. “Thank you. For tonight.”

“I should be thanking you.” Viktor rubbed his cheek into Yuuri’s hair. “You saved my life, Yuuri.”

“You saved mine.”

Viktor turned his face until he could kiss the top of Yuuri’s head, then relaxed against the younger man. His eyelids began to droop, and Viktor tried to wake himself up. It was cold, colder than it had been when they left the roof, but he wasn’t shivering. Yuuri’s body next to his was also calm. Their touching thighs and hands generated a bubble of heat.

The sky changed slowly, shifting from deep purple to gray to dark blue before a shock of orange punched through the cool colors in the atmosphere. He gasped and held his breath, held Yuuri’s hand tighter. Viktor was used to being awake before sunrise, but it had been decades since he’d allowed himself to watch the change in colors. “Wow,” he said, breath exhaling in a puff of white.

Yuuri hummed and snuggled closer to Viktor’s body. “Did you know,” he asked, “that they call Japan the Land of the Rising Sun?”

“I’ve heard that. Do you know why?”

“In Japanese, the word for ‘Japan’ means ‘origin of the sun.’ It’s because we’re east of China. We had a prince who wrote a letter to the Chinese emperor and signed it that way. I guess it kind of stuck.”

“I like it,” Viktor said. “This is beautiful, Yuuri—thank you for bringing me back up here to see this.”

Yuuri lifted his head from Viktor’s shoulder and yawned before settling back down. “I’ve always loved the sunrise,” he said. “Everything’s quiet except the sky, but the sky is just shouting in colors. It’s like, every morning, the world gives itself a wakeup call with a challenge to be more, to be exciting and beautiful and new. No two sunrises are ever the same, but the sun still rises every morning. I don’t know if I’m making any sense. I should just shut up now, I guess.”

“Never shut up,” Viktor said. “I love hearing your thoughts on things like this. You have a way of looking at the world that’s absolutely beautiful, Yuuri. I’ve never talked to anyone who’s shown me such beauty in their mind. So, please don’t shut up. Ever.”

“But Viktor,” Yuuri said, “if I’m always talking, how will I ever kiss you again?”

“Touché,” Viktor said. He let go of Yuuri’s hand and tugged at his sleeve. “Here, come sit with me,” he said while he pulled Yuuri into his lap. With his legs opened just wide enough to accommodate Yuuri between them, Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s stomach from behind. Yuuri leaned back into Viktor’s chest and twisted his neck around to meet Viktor in a deep, if awkward, kiss.

Yuuri shifted so that his neck would be more comfortable, and Viktor chased his lips with his own. When they stopped, several minutes had passed and the whole sky was striped through with orange and dusty rose. Viktor’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he checked it, he saw that he only had five percent of his battery left. He also noticed the time. 7:47 a.m. “Yuuri—exactly twelve hours ago, I was about to walk off the edge of this building when you came through the door.”

“I was planning on doing the same thing.”

“I like this so much more,” Viktor said. He squeezed Yuuri tightly. “I was so ready to let go. Of everything. I don’t want to let go of you.”

Yuuri turned in his arms until they were embracing, chest to chest. “I don’t want to let you go, either,” he said, “but I promised Phichit…I need to see my doctor.”

“I…I think I need to see one, too,” Viktor said. “I’ll do anything if it will help me hold on to you.”

“So will I.” Yuuri kissed his forehead, much like Viktor had been doing to the younger man all night long. “I’ll get better. We’ll get better. Promise?”

“I do. Promise me you’ll stay beyond the sunrise?”

“I will.” Yuuri kissed him again, slow and languid, in the light of the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you've enjoyed this fic (it's sad and dark most of the time, I know...) as much as I do. If you've been active in the comments at all, you'll know this isn't the end.
> 
> I've already started writing the next part of this AU. You should see it coming up soon. It'll be at least until the weekend, probably into next week, before I start posting it, though. My grandfather passed away last week, so I have been with my parents and relatives helping to take care of stuff, and I will definitely be waiting until after I go back to my own house before the first chapter goes up.
> 
> Thank you for coming along with me on this journey! I will keep writing things that make you cry, just for you :)


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